


Challenge Six: Light and Dark

by Anonymous



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other, Summer Pornathon 2013
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 07:20:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 108,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/910463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Entries for Challenge Six: Light and Dark for the 2013 Summer Pornathon.</p>
<p>The voting post can be found <a href="">here</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Group A (Warnings)

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing and warnings included in chapters 1-4.
> 
> Chapters 5-8 are repeats of chapters 1-4 without pairing and warning information.

**1.**  
 **Option:**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** canonical character death, shamelessly lifted the first stanza of Emily Dickinson's "Because I could not stop for Death" as a starting point

Light /laIt/ Something that makes vision possible.

Dark /da:rk/ The absence of light.

Because I could not stop for Death,  
He kindly stopped for me,  
The carriage held but just ourselves  
And Immortality.

The carriage did roll slow at first,  
Beasts plodding two by two,  
Through fields and cities both alike,  
We admired all the views.

My hands grew old then young again,  
But like some folly con,  
Death would not let me take my leave,  
And so we traveled on.

Through days and years we journeyed,  
Each one blurring with the next,  
And with each passing milestone,  
I found I grew more vexed.

Because the world kept turning,  
And slowly they forgot,  
Though time ticked by horribly,  
I found that I could not.

Your scent was just as potent,  
As the day we said goodbye,  
When you asked for me to hold you,  
And I raged up to the sky.

I begged the gods to keep you,  
For we hadn't had our time,  
But none of them did hear,  
When I whispered you were mine.

Our first encounter was quite rough,  
A fight for all two see,  
But through the brawl I learned the fate,  
Of our twined destinies.

It took us years of heated looks,  
Before the dam did break,  
But once it did it broke for good,  
My heart was yours to take.

I still recall your hands on mine,  
Using mine to cup your face,  
And then you'd quickly pull me close,  
Into your tight embrace.

Our first time together,  
Was not your first at all,  
But you held my hand so tenderly,  
And led me down the hall.

You stripped me bare in silence,  
Fingers ghosting down my skin,  
But when you joined me on the bed,  
I relished in our sin.

You led me through our passion,  
And though you were the King,  
When I pressed inside of you,  
I felt my body sing.

We thought we'd last forever,  
And for me that might be true,  
But now my love you've gone from me,  
And that will just not do.

Death grew complacent with me there,  
And judged me as a friend,  
He did not see the plan I had,  
Which lead to his own end.

For death can only see the now,  
Not the past or depth of grief,  
So I cut his time as reaper short,  
And slid over in his seat.

I started changes slowly,  
Nothing really to take note,  
But nothing seemed to call you back,  
And in earnest I did smote.

The thing they called the first world war,  
Did nothing to rouse your form,  
And as they battled more and more,  
I began to truly mourn.

For I knew these little skirmishes,  
Would never be enough,  
The world needed something stronger,  
To raise you from the dust.

And so began the hurricanes,  
Sweeping chaos across the land,  
I re-arranged the continents,  
With a single wave of hand.

I dripped fire down the mountainside,  
Dragged leviathans from the sea,  
But through this all you slumbered on,  
And never returned to me.

And so this world must finally end,  
They have one last meal to dine,  
Because the world does not deserve its sun,  
When it has stolen mine.

* * *

**2.**  
 **Option:** Dark with the beginnings of finding light  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** Possible dubcon if you squint?

Hundreds of years spent in solitude had changed Merlin. It doesn’t take long for Arthur to realize, after the immeasurable joy and relief of his dearest friend being the first sight that greets his newly awoken eyes. Tears had immediately flooded Merlin’s eyes, and as Arthur reached for him it seemed it had been both ages and no time at all since the days he’d told him ‘No man is worth your tears.’

Hours later, they sit around a familiar campfire, though Merlin says thousands of years have passed since the time of Camelot.

“There used to be great cities, with towering buildings made of metal,” Merlin tells him. “But then the wars started, and the bombs fell.”

Arthur can see the ways Merlin’s changed. Just in his mannerisms and even his words, the way he talks about so much death in a way his old self couldn’t have fathomed. Still, it makes Arthur love him no less.

“Now the survivors just live in ruins where the radiation’s not too bad, and where they can find supplies.”

“Why haven’t you joined any of them?”

Merlin just gives a bitter smile, his gaze lost in the fire. “I’ve had enough of the people in this age, who never learn from their mistakes. There’s no one like you anymore.”

“What, no prats?”

Finally, Merlin’s smile appears – though dimmed. “No, there are plenty of those. It’s all the good qualities that have gone from the world.”

Without Merlin’s ever-resilient smile, his optimism and bright inner strength that had often revived Arthur when all appeared lost, this new world seemed like a dark place indeed.

~~

“There’s something wrong with my magic,” Merlin tells him later, as the fire begins to die out. “About a hundred years ago, it’s like it was infected, poisoned by all the radiation and death in the world… Sometimes I can’t control it anymore.”

Arthur nods towards the embers of the fire. “Try it.”

Merlin takes a deep breath before closing his eyes. Arthur watches as a tiny bit of flame parts from the kindling to float above Merlin’s fingers. 

But then Merlin’s eyes open. 

Though Arthur hadn’t often seen Merlin’s eyes glow gold when he used to do magic, Arthur can tell something’s very wrong when Merlin’s eyes blaze black instead, and the tiny flame sputters before darkening. 

“Merlin!” Merlin shakes his head at Arthur’s sharp call, the flame disappearing as his eyes turn blue again. Merlin just stares for a long moment, before taking a shuddering breath and curling in, wrapping his arms around himself. 

“Even my magic is all wrong now.” 

At his broken voice, Arthur moves to him instinctively. He wraps Merlin in his arms and draws him close. Merlin immediately clings to him, after so many years of having nothing to hold onto. 

“I haven’t forgotten how you stayed by my side, how you tried to save me,” Arthur murmurs to him. “Now it’s my turn to look after you.”

“A king caring for his lowly servant?” 

“You did say this world’s become a rather ghastly place.” 

Merlin manages a smile, and Arthur kisses his brow. If this is his purpose for returning, Arthur curses fate for not calling him sooner.

~

Arthur wakes to the sound of screaming. Thunder crashes around them and the wind howls, and Merlin’s thrashing on the ground beside him. 

“Merlin!” Arthur reaches to lift and hold him, trying to calm the spasms wracking his thin body. Merlin’s eyes fly open, and his pupils are solid black.

“Merlin,” Arthur leans close over the roaring wind. “You’re not alone, I’m here now. I’ll always be here, and we’re going to save this world.” Clutching Merlin tightly, Arthur rests their foreheads together. “You haven’t failed, Merlin. You’ve done everything for humanity. You deserve peace.”

Arthur seals his lips to Merlin’s and holds on. He fits his body over Merlin’s even as Merlin’s unbridled power rages. Arthur holds him, rocking his body against him, and pulls his clothes aside for his lips to find every bit of Merlin’s skin, washing away the centuries of hopelessness that had tried to claim him.

As the wind quiets and Merlin’s mind returns with his golden eyes, he can only comprehend the tender heat of Arthur. He hides his face against Arthur’s strength as the grief and solitude finally begin to bleed out. The sky will be that much clearer when it’s over. 

Merlin holds on, somehow knowing tomorrow will be brighter, with Arthur as his light.

* * *

**3.**  
 **Option:** Light and Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** established roleplaying/ageplay, mild somnophilia

When Arthur woke up it was still dark outside. He turned his head to look at the clock and saw it had just passed four in the morning. Then he felt the reason for his sudden awakening.

Merlin’s hand was inside his pants and stroking his cock to a thick hardness. His pretty little fingers were like sparkling alabaster in the moonlight that shone in through the window.

Arthur grunted drowsily. Merlin glanced up at him and saw he was awake. He had that naughty glint in his eye that he always got when he wanted to play. 

“Merlin,” Arthur said gently, like he might hurt Merlin’s feelings if he spoke to curtly. “What are you doing?”

Merlin looked up with an apologetic expression. “I can’t sleep, Daddy.”

Arthur sighed and stroked Merlin’s hair. “Daddy has to go to work in the morning.”

Merlin’s lips pouted as he licked a thin stripe up Arthur’s cock. “Please?”

“Alright, but just this once.”

Merlin perked up instantly with a wide smile and set straight to mouthing the hard length in his hand. Arthur let his head fall back to the pillow and just bask in the pleasure of Merlin’s mouth. Merlin’s hungry sounds of appreciation were like a lullaby.

“Daddy?”

Arthur blinked his eyes open and stared bleary-eyed down his body to where Merlin lay between his thighs. “Yes, Merlin?”

“I…I’ll be tired faster if you fuck me.”

Arthur rubbed his eyes. “Merlin, I don’t have the concentration right now to—“

“No, no! I haven’t been able to get to sleep the past few nights, so I…” Merlin lowered his eyes and hesitated to continue with a blush.

“ _Merlin_ ,” Arthur said disapprovingly. “Did you go to bed with a plug in your arse tonight?”

Merlin bit his lip and nodded, still not looking up.

“Alright,” Arthur exhaled. “Get a condom from the drawer then.”

Merlin’s pout deepened.

“Now what is it?”

Merlin traced idle patterns on Arthur’s thigh with the tip of his finger. “I want to feel you, Daddy.”

Arthur’s heart skipped. He nodded vigorously and Merlin’s face lit up again. He raised up and quickly straddled Arthur’s prone body. He reached behind him and pulled out the plug, gasping when it brushed against his prostate. Arthur was just awake enough to remember they ought to use lube but with another glance down at his cock he saw it already shining in the moonlight. Ah, that’s right. Merlin already got him nice and wet with his mouth.

Merlin whimpered with the stretch. Arthur was much larger than the plug. He rubbed Merlin’s thighs soothingly.

And then Arthur was there, buried balls-deep in Merlin with no layer in between. He was wide awake now, though his body was still heavy with sleep. He gave an experimental thrust and Merlin inhaled sharply. That seemed to be all the encouragement Merlin needed because then he took over, lifting and lowering himself in slow, smooth motions. 

He seemed wrecked already, eyes shut and voice hoarse with lust. “Oh Daddy you feel so good,” he moaned.

“Yeah, yeah,” Arthur panted, his hands tightening around Merlin’s bouncing hips. “Faster, Merlin. Daddy wants to come so hard for you tonight.”

Merlin sped up, clenching his arse around Arthur’s cock and sliding down with enough force to make the mattress dip beneath their combined weight. His hard cock slapped a steady rhythm against Arthur’s belly on each downward repetition.

Arthur could tell Merlin was close when his fingernails began digging into his chest. He took one hand from where it was anchored on Merlin’s arse and wrapped strong fingers around Merlin’s cock, stroking just as brutally fast as Merlin rode him.

Merlin cried out in pleasure. “Oh, yes Daddy, _yes_!” Within the next few strokes he was coming over Arthur’s hand onto his stomach.

“Ah, ah, Merlin,” Arthur gasped as his body tensed and he erupted inside of Merlin.

“Mm, yeah, fill me up Daddy,” Merlin urged with a slow roll of his hips. Arthur was sure it was Merlin’s words alone that wrung another pulse of come out of him.

When Arthur’s muscles relaxed and Merlin was satisfied Arthur had finished, he raised off and reached for a towel on the side of the bed. Arthur felt his eyelids drooping as Merlin wiped their bodies clean.

“I love you, Arthur,” Merlin whispered against Arthur’s lips just as Arthur was drifting asleep.

“Mmph,” Arthur grunted tiredly. “Just remember that tomorrow’s my turn.”

* * *

**4.**  
 **Option** : Dark/Light implied  
 **Pairing:** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warnings:** sex magic, so a hint of dubcon 

“Luke would be cooler as a dark Jedi.” 

“No. You’re missing the whole point of it, Merlin.” Arthur gestured with his beer for emphasis. “His father went dark, his _father_ , and the whole series is about whether or not Luke is going to follow suit. The fact that he resists in spite of the draw of the dark side is testimony to his character. Character is far more important than being _cool_.” 

Merlin’s eyes narrowed skeptically behind his rimmed glasses. With his legs crossed on the settee, knees grazing Arthur’s thigh, he looked like some sort of nerd guru. Arthur held his breath. He’d been trying to get Merlin over to his flat for ages, but the bloody idiot had resisted until Arthur had discovered—with the help of his PA—Merlin’s obsession. 

“Did you rehearse that?” Merlin asked. 

“No, absolutely not.” _Yes_. 

“But you’ve never seemed interested in the trilogy until this week.” 

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Merlin.” Arthur leaned closer. “I’m a very deep person.” 

Merlin’s cheeks pinked all the way round to his ears, and he started peeling his beer label with abandon. Arthur took the opportunity to move closer still. Maybe finally, after months of bickering (Merlin always started it), chasing (Arthur couldn’t help himself), and sexual tension so thick that the rest of the office was taking bets—maybe, please god, something was about to happen. 

“Merlin,” Arthur’s voice grew soft as he focused on Merlin’s crotch. “Does the idea of Luke going to the dark side turn you on?” 

“That’s ridiculous.” 

“I think it does. I think you get a bit horny thinking about it. Can I play with your light saber?” Arthur grinned. There was no way Merlin could deny the bulge straining against the fly of his tight jeans. Arthur was just about to lean in for the kiss he’d long desired when Merlin set down his beer, removed his glasses, and pushed Arthur flat on his back so that Merlin was straddling his thighs. Arthur gaped up at him. The bottle fell from his hand.

“You’re a menace to society,” Merlin said. “You goddamn smart arse.”

“I’ve always been told my arse is rather nice.” 

“Shut up. For once, just shut up.” Merlin leaned down and took Arthur’s mouth. The effect was shocking and immediate. Arthur hardened when Merlin’s tongue slipped along his, and he grabbed Merlin’s arse to pull him closer as the kiss lit his spine from the inside out. The rigid length of Merlin’s cock rubbed against Arthur while warm, sinewy muscles bunched under his hands. 

“You think I’m just some virginal geek, don’t you?” Merlin whispered against Arthur’s ear. “There’s no way you can handle _me_ , Pendragon. You have no fucking idea who I am.” 

“Do I get to find out?” Arthur sucked the skin just under Merlin’s jaw, licking at the stubble there. Merlin stilled on top of him, and for a moment Arthur worried he’d mucked it up somehow, but then . . . 

His balls tightened, and heat flared from his belly to his knees. The orgasm hit with a force that he’d never experienced before and couldn’t control. His cock shot thick pulses of come into his trousers, and Merlin rode his thigh and kissed him deeply with his velvet tongue. 

“Merlin.” He could barely speak, stomach muscles quivering as his body melted into the sofa. Though he was fully clothed, it felt like a thousand wet mouths sucked and licked every secret place on his skin. And when he thought it was over, when his balls ached from emptying their load, he came again, clutching Merlin as pleasure rolled over him in hot, beating waves. 

“You’re going to make me come. Fuck, I wish I was inside of you,” Merlin said. And then he groaned and arched, and his eyes turned a luminous gold. Arthur felt something breach him: a thick, hard cock. It couldn’t be. But Merlin snapped his hips again and drove deeper, and the phantom cock made Arthur’s eyes roll back in his head. 

He came a third time, weakly, his body reacting to the power within, all around—the Force. 

Maybe he said that out loud. Merlin looked down at him, still fucking. 

“It’s not the Force, you idiot. It’s my magic. I got a little carried away.” His voice was strained.

“Magic . . . is real?” It certainly felt real. And bloody brilliant. 

Merlin smirked. “You’ve got a lot to learn, young Padawan.”

* * *

**5.**  
 **Pairing:** Gwen/Morgana, Arthur/Merlin (side)  
 **Warning:** None

Gwen first met Morgana at a party celebrating the opening of the new sculpture garden two years previous. She was hired to photograph the event – essentially the board of directors and donors congratulating themselves. She gravitated toward Morgana in the crowd, her dark hair taking on different tones in the waning sunlight. Her pencil dress was a monochromatic dream: soft white fabric with black lace panelling on the sides, following the curves of her body. The sight of her was overwhelming and Gwen couldn’t trust herself to hold a conversation with her.

Their second meeting was a few months later and also a party, this time at Arthur and Merlin’s house celebrating their engagement. Though this was not a high society event, Morgana was still immaculate. She seemed more comfortable here – smiling and laughing with the other guests, taking the time to tease Arthur about how soon he fell head-over-heels for Merlin. In this atmosphere it was easy to approach her.

*

Since then they have been to many parties, formal and otherwise, been to movies and coffee shops and art galleries displaying Gwen’s work. They’ve been together for over a year, but there are still aspects of Morgana’s past that are kept hidden from Gwen and even, she suspects, from Morgana herself. She can see the evidence in Morgana’s eyes when she first wakes up in the morning – before the soft kisses and gentle touches, the orgasms building for so long – she looks frightened and surprised, as if she dreamed Gwen had left her and for a moment thought it was true. She can see it at night too, when they’re not concerned with being careful and they just take each other, frantic and rough. Morgana looks desperate then, like this could be the last time she has Gwen in her arms. The last time she will be loved.

*

In this digital age, Gwen prefers film. She feels more connected to the subject when she’s in the darkroom, her own hands working to slowly reveal the image.

Gwen has taken Morgana’s photograph nearly every day they’ve been together. There are the laughing candids, the thoughtful gazes, the ones of Morgana sleeping. All glimpses into Morgana, but none as honest as the ones she’s taking now.

They’re in the bedroom, but the furniture has been pushed aside. There’s a cream sheet hanging from the closet doors, billowing to pool on the floor below. Morgana stands there naked, hair falling in waves around her shoulders. She watches as Gwen moves about the room checking lighting placement and making final adjustments.  
Finally she stands facing Morgana, a slight smile on her lips, trying to be reassuring. It’s incredibly brave what Morgana’s doing – not only is she displaying her body, she’s displaying her soul. Gwen can see all her hopes and fears, her desires and doubts, written all over her face and in her posture. It’s not just the lack of clothing, but Morgana looks more naked with honesty than she’s ever been.

* * *

**6.**  
 **Option:** dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** angst

**Once Upon a Time**

He remembered a time when it wasn’t like this. A time that seemed a lifetime ago. Before he became _this_. But this was what the cards held for him- or the stones, he thought miserably.

That’s not to say he regretted what he’d helped build, Camelot was a glorious place. Albion united and at peace. Arthur, a great and benevolent king, whom the people loved. And he was Merlin, the great warlock and Arthur’s most trusted advisor. 

But that was the trouble, he wasn’t Merlin, at least not the Merlin he once was, the Merlin they all knew before Destiny got in the way.

He remembered a time when the smiles came easily and true. A time when things were easy, where all he had to do was try to keep Arthur’s rooms tidy, his armour clean and mended, and the prat of a prince alive, while hiding his magic and his emotions. He thought it would get better when Lance and the others became welcome fixtures at the castle.

Lance had known about him and it wasn’t long before Gwaine knew, as well. But somehow that only made things harder. Merlin wasn’t fool enough to blame anyone but himself for that. The more people knew about him the more alone he felt, the more he felt he had to protect them from the choices that had to be made, the more he lost himself to the weight of those decisions; the more the smiling young man he was became a façade. He didn’t need a crystal to tell him that had been madness at best, more hubris if he was honest, though he didn’t know it at the time.

Now he was buried under the weight of it. All the choices and repercussions, they fell on him like layers of shroud covering him until only a vaguely familiar shape remained, and the truth beneath it all nothing more than a ghost. 

There had been peace for over a year now, every night of which he spent huddled against the castle’s highest parapet, the dark blue cloak Arthur had given him years ago, not long after he’d become king, when he was still nothing more than Arthur’s loyal servant and friend, wrapped tightly around him, it’s soft midnight wool soaking up the tears he silently shed.

He had his own rooms, as elegant as Arthur’s ever were, but he seldom slept there. In truth he seldom slept, when he did he dreamt of Arthur and of a time when they could simply be Arthur and Merlin even if only behind closed doors. In the darkness of night he’d let himself imagine what it would be like for Arthur to find him, the shrouded remnants of the man he once was, and he’d dream that Arthur would somehow dig through the layers and years and pain to reach the Merlin that was buried there. He hoped tonight would be one of those nights, he always felt drained after them, but for a few minutes, maybe an hour, he got to have the world he wanted. He hoped for more, of course, but having Arthur’s arms wrapped around him, trailing kisses along his body as he moved lower and lower, leaving wet paths in his wake, touching and claiming, burning his ownership into his body as he moved inside him filling him with so much more than his body and his seed all seemed too much to even dream. “Oh, Arthur,” a pained sound murmured into the icy air.

“I’ve waited, you know.”

The words filtered softly to Merlin. 

“Every night, since we retook the castle. Even before you told me.” Arthur slid down the wall next to his warlock. “I’ve waited every day now that it’s over. I waited. I thought that was what you wanted. But you never came. But you came here. Every night.” He reached out seeking Merlin’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “I’m tired of waiting.”

Merlin stared at their hands. How could he? Arthur had no idea of the things he’d done, the choices he’d had to make. Merlin felt fingers tighten around his.

“You’d be surprised.”

“What?” Merlin mouthed, brow furrowing in confusion.

“The things you had to do, the choices you question every day.” His tone was all too knowing.

Merlin didn’t think he’d said those things out loud, but he must have. He stared at Arthur for undeterminable minutes. “Tell me,” he whispered.

* * *

**7.**  
 **Option:** Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Percival  
 **Warning(s):** Considering it's a prison au, it might be considered dub-con by some, but it's not really.

"Lights out!"

Merlin's stomach sank. Now was the moment he'd dreaded since walking down the line to his new home for the next five to ten. He'd been tormented by the brigade that picked him up about how a sweet morsel like him would get eaten alive by the Knights inside. When they'd swung open the cell door to reveal his new roommate as the biggest one of the bunch, he'd almost forgotten about the implants that would cripple him if he dared to use his magic to defend himself.

His cellmate's name was Percival. He hadn't uttered a word in the eleven hours since the door locked shut behind Merlin.

And now the cell was pitch black.

The lower bed creaked. Merlin froze.

"You in for magic?"

Percival's voice was a soft rumble, thunder in the far distance. Though he was terrified, it sent a cascade of shivers across Merlin's skin.

"Yeah."

"You got the look."

True, unfortunately. Half the reason he'd been picked up, in spite of Uther Pendragon's promises.

The bunk shifted. The next moment, a broad hand clamped around his throat.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Percival said. "This is just so you don't scream."

"You mean, while you rape me?"

The mattress bowed. The next time Percival spoke, his warm breath came from inches away, his voice barely audible. "I don't do that."

"That's not what the guards say."

"The guards want you scared. So you won't notice how you scare the shit out of them."

Merlin snorted. "Yeah, I'm so terrifying."

"You have magic."

"What good is it with this implant?"

"You'll find out. In here, we're all on the same side, but only if you play along."

Considering he was trapped in place, what choice did he have? But the more Percival spoke, the more seductive he became, whittling Merlin's fear into curiosity. "What're you talking about?" He matched Percival's volume.

"Guards expect me to break you. We put on a show for them, they'll be satisfied."

"What kind of show?"

"Sex show. They like to think I tear apart the boys they keep dropping in here."

"What do we have to do?"

He hadn't finished speaking when Percival hauled him off the bed. Merlin slammed against the wall, Percival's naked body pinning him in place. The long, thick weight of Percival's erect cock rested between their torsos.

A shout of protest bubbled up, shut off by the clamp of Percival's hand over his mouth. He felt like he was suffocating.

"Motion sensors in the floor and walls," Percival murmured in Merlin's ear. "Just has to feel like fucking to them."

It felt like fucking to Merlin, too, as Percival began to rock against his body. The Knight was carved from stone, obliterating any other sensation. He surrounded Merlin's slimmer frame, forcing Merlin to hold on, and the constant hot huffs of breath against his neck blurred rational responses. He coiled his legs around Percival's hips and whimpered when the next slide grated along his trapped balls, his prick hardening at the constant friction.

Percival dropped both hands to cup Merlin's ass and hoist him closer.

"Fuck," he muttered. "Didn't expect you to feel so good."

Merlin didn't know if that was part of the act for the guards, but at this point, it didn't even feel like a game anymore.

"You couldn't do this outside," he taunted, loud enough for anyone to hear. "I'd tear you apart before you could lay a finger on me."

Percival caught on quick. "Stupid bitch. My finger's not what I had in mind."

"Feels like a finger to me."

A sharp hiss, followed by harder rubs of flesh to flesh. "Let's hear you say that when you're choking on it."

The dirty talk went on, each word a new bite across his now heated skin. When Merlin buried his face in Percival's neck to suck hard at the sweaty sinew, Percival shoved his hand into Merlin's pants to fist his aching cock. Two pulls, and he was shooting all over both of them.

Percival came with a grunt a few seconds later.

Neither moved. All Merlin heard was Percival's ragged breathing.

"That enough?" Merlin whispered.

"More than."

Maybe for now but not for always. Because tomorrow, he was finding out what Percival meant about being on the same side. And if Percival had to pretend to fuck him every night until he did, well, that was just a bonus, now wasn't it?

* * *

**8.**

**Option:**

**Pairing:** Merlin/Mordred

 **Warnings:** None

He never came to him during the day.

He never approached him, he never smiled, he never gave any sign that he was willing to give Mordred a chance to redeem himself for whatever Merlin thought he'd done wrong. 

No, Merlin waited until he was covered by darkness; he sneaked through the halls when they were empty, sneaked quietly, sneaked in. 

And Mordred let him in. Always. 

He listened for the soft footsteps after he'd gone to bed and tried to ignore the tinge of excitement as they finally neared his chambers, followed by a knock on the door. He didn't answer, he didn't really have to. Merlin opened the door tentatively and peeked in, finally entering with Mordred's encouraging nod. He closed the door carefully and stood by it,  as if unsure of his welcome. 

Mordred wasn't sure whom he pitied more - Merlin or himself. 

"Come here", he said softly as he pushed the sheets off himself. He didn't have to ask twice. Merlin strode towards him, shrugging his jacket off on the way. By the bed, he got out of his boots and sat astride Mordred, his fingers gripping Mordred's shoulders tightly. 

He offered a little smile and Mordred felt a familiar dull ache in his chest as he raised himself on his elbows and they shared their first kiss for the night. They didn't speak a much. They didn't speak _at all_ - except for the occasional half-coherent grunt or broken bits of the other's name. 

They hadn't discussed any of this - how they shared those moments most nights of their weeks, how they found that the pieces of their broken selves fit the other's, how they _needed_ each other. They told themselves that they didn't have to. Mordred thought he'd be more willing to talk than Merlin would, so he kept everything to himself and accepted all Merlin had to give him. 

Tonight Merlin had to give him his hands - fingers in Mordred's hair, on his arms, on his thighs, on his cock. Mordred's breath hitched and he arched up with a moan as Merlin finally slid against him, bare, gotten rid of their clothes. One hand in Mordred's hair, the other  gripping both their cocks firmly and tugging steadily, Merlin met Mordred's gaze. Mordred knew that look in his eyes far too well and nodded in consent, laying down again and letting Merlin move up and straddle his chest. He took Merlin's cock in his mouth and relaxed, relishing the shaky groan that slipped past Merlin's lips. Soon all he could do was grip Merlin's thighs and let him use his mouth, knowing he'd be done before the strain became unbearable. 

What he didn't expect was Merlin to reach back and grab Mordred's cock, pulling in the same rhythm as he fucked his mouth. Mordred moaned around the staff in his mouth and Merlin echoed him, then he laughed; he pulled back and jacked himself off, gathering half of his come in his hand and letting the rest slip through his fingers and onto Mordred's chest. He moved further back and gripped Mordred again, slick hand moving easily and bringing him off quickly. Mordred fucked his hand through it, biting his lips and breathing heavily through his nose as to not make any noise. 

He never stayed with him during the night. 

He never turned back, never said good night, never gave any sign that this - that _Mordred_ was to him something more than just a shag; he wouldn't let himself admit it. 

Never. Until now. 

His hand froze mid-air before he pushed the door handle and he turned around, taking a deep breath. In a heartbeat - a very loud, excited heartbeat - he was by Mordred's bed again, leaning down and pressing a firm kiss to Mordred's lips. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered against them, pressing another small kiss before retreating. 

"About?"

Merlin shrugged. _Everything._

Mordred offered a tentative smile and Merlin returned it, letting hope glimmer somewhere in Mordred's heart. 

Maybe. Maybe what they had would finally see the day. 

* * *

**9.**  
 **Option:** Dark and Light  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur, Merlin/OMC  
 **Warning(s):** Rape/non-con, bondage, kidnapping, mentions of minor character death.

It’s been years since Arthur banished him from Camelot. _Years_. Years where Merlin was forced to live like a shadow, unable to use his magic in fear of retribution from those serving the King. Uther’s death turned Arthur away from magic forever, and though Merlin had only ever used his powers for Arthur’s gain -- to protect him, save him, love him -- he had been turned away. Some say he’d been lucky to escape the King’s clutches with his life, but Merlin has long felt that death would have been the kinder punishment.

Those who knew him before and have seen him since -- Gwaine, Lancelot, even his own mother -- all claim that the exile has changed him, turned him into something different. But people change, Merlin thinks, it’s only natural to realise how the world really works as you get older. Few people keep seeing the world as they did when they were young.

He certainly doesn’t.

Even Kilgharrah turned on him, eventually. Maybe it was because he failed his destiny as he was forced to leave Camelot, or maybe it was his decision to burn a whole village down in the hunt for the man who had stolen his innocence and hope.

The Great Dragon had reluctantly done it, unable to refuse a dragonlord’s command. The agonized screams of the dying still ring in Merlin’s ears sometimes. It fills him with anger, disgust, and a kind of ruthless satisfaction. Then, the screams always turn into a single scream, desperate and anguished. Merlin shudders involuntarily at the memory of rough hands on him, in him, the weight of a body on top of him... 

He remembers his own tears, his screams for his assailant to stop. That it hurts, that he isn’t-- 

But the man hadn’t. He’d only laughed and fucked him harder, pinning Merlin’s hands above his head, easily keeping him there despite his attempts to escape. The man’s knight’s cape had laid neatly folded right next to them and Merlin can still see it when he closes his eyes. He can see the red, the gold of the dragon... can smell the dampness of it. _That’s_ the kind of people the King protects and who protect the King.

Merlin’s tears had taken a long time to dry afterwards. But they’re dry now, and he knows who ultimately is going to be punished for what happened that night.

He glances towards the fireplace, revels in his catch. It took months of planning and searching and scheming to get to him, but now he’s here. The King -- the King of Light as his subjects foolishly call him -- is finally at Merlin’s mercy. The people of Camelot don’t know what he is, what kind of monsters he protects and what kind of monsters he calls noble.

There’s no nobility in a name alone. Merlin knows that, has always known that.

But Arthur... Arthur needs to learn.

Arthur, the man he used to love... who featured in Merlin’s wank fantasies long after he’d been exiled. It’s nearly impossible not to find him attractive. Merlin doesn’t even try. The King is the epitome of beauty with his broad chest and lean, toned arm muscles, narrow hips and gorgeous thighs. Merlin takes a few extra moments to undress him, let his fingers run over the relaxed muscles, kiss his lips, nibble at his jaw, lick his cock... to finally taste him; taste the light.

It -- he -- tastes like soil, but it still makes Merlin hard.

He strings Arthur up, ties his hands over his head with chains attached to the ceiling, uses his magic to strengthen the bonds. There will be no escaping. Merlin will be in control and Merlin will punish the King for as long as he wants. And he wants. He wants _so bad_.

When Arthur grunts, it takes a few more minutes before he wakes up. But if it’s one thing Merlin has learnt by his years in exile, it’s patience, so he waits. Arthur’s head finally snaps up, eyes unfocussed at first but soon, they’re once again alert. First, he realises he’s bound. Then, he notices Merlin.

“Mer-- Merlin?” he says, voice raspy. Uncertain.

“’King of Light’,” Merlin says quietly, slowly circling his naked prisoner. “That is what they call you, isn’t it?”

He roughly grabs Arthur’s chin between his fingers, holds him steady. Gently, he then places a kiss on the chapped lips.

“Well, if that’s true, _my King_... I am the Dark that has come to devour you.”

* * *

**10.**  
 **Option:** Dark  & Light  
 **Pairing(s):** Bronwen/Forridel  
 **Warning(s):** None

A moonless night, with clouds thick enough to block the stars. Only the sound of the ocean tells them which way is water, which way land. Sand gives under their feet, first soft and dry, then packed wet. Their laughter echoes like a game of _marco polo_ , hands wandering, grasping at any piece of each other they can find.

Someone catches Bronwen's wrist, and she laughs, startled, the sound bubbling up through her throat. Forridel laughs back.

Nimueh stops them at the edge of the water, tiny waves running over their feet and retreating. The darkness is absolute, welcoming. Bronwen is the most relaxed she's felt in years. Here in the dark, she could say anything, do anything.

To her right, Helen starts to hum, natural as breathing, and Bronwen joins in, letting the sound flow out of her and settle into the rhythm of the waves. Someone is fiddling with the buckets, probably Mary with her industrial-size lighter and dozen boxes of contraband.

There's the sound of ripping cardboard, and then someone presses a stick into Bronwen's hand. She finds the smooth end and grips tight.

The first flare of light is like the beginning of the world, a flash in pure darkness. Blinded briefly, she blinks away the afterimages. The lighter is gone now, and only Mithian's hand is visible in the green light her sparkler spits off.

"Come on," Mithian urges, and they press forward, each taking a piece of light from hers, tiny flares and sparks in half a dozen colors, illuminating hands and flashes of faces. Morgana dances with one in each hand, spinning around Gwen, and Sefa binds back Elena's hair so she it won't catch fire. Vivian has begun writing in the air in red and gold, while Morgause is making some kind of arcane shapes that linger longer than they should.

When the sparkler burns down to Bronwen's fingers, she finds a bucket with her toes and drops it carefully into the wet sand inside. Mary puts another in her hand within moments.

For hours, they dance in the dark, their tiny dripping sparks the only light reflected on the sea. Helen sings, and Bronwen follows gamely after. Later, Freya tells a breathless story about a mermaid that doesn't seem to have an ending, but trails off into the gentle darkness.

Eventually, Forridel's fingers slip back around Bronwen's wrist and tug lightly. The group is beginning to spread out, most of the sparklers burned up. One or two people have turned on red-light flashlights. It's still very dark, though, when they stumble back away from the ocean, over the dry sand and the rough grass, stopping once to pull a burr from Forridel's foot, and then they're barefoot on the rough wooden stairs, taking them to the second floor porch.

They climb through an open window, fighting curtains. Bronwen smells Hunith's distinctive patchouli scent, so she pulls them down the hall to the room she shares with Sophia, and tugs Forridel onto the bottom bunk.

"We've got sandy feet," Forridel whispers. 

Somehow that's ridiculously funny in this moment, so Bronwen wraps both arms around her and laughs, deep and happy. After a moment, Forridel joins in, running her sandy foot up Bronwen's leg.

Bronwen's laugh catches in her throat.

Everything is touch in the dark. Forridel's smile against her cheek is soft with a hint of teeth. Without light, Bronwen feels brave enough to slide her hand up Forridel's side, dragging her shirt up until Bronwen can spread a hand on the soft skin of her side, feeling the shape of Forridel's back as it twists to bring her lips down to Bronwen's shoulder, nipping through her shirt.

They twist slowly, clothing pulled away piece by piece, lips and fingertips and bumping noses as they learn each other's bodies by touch. Forridel's nails scratch lightly up the inside of Bronwen's thighs. With a sigh, Bronwen opens, letting Forridel slide up and tease her with one finger, then gently press in two. Bronwen's so wet she's dripping, so sensitive that the pressure of Forridel's palm against her clit is almost too much already, but she rides it, urges Forridel to mouth at her nipples as she bends her knees and rocks until the world bursts into tight, sparking light.

When she comes down, she's humming softly as she gathers Forridel close. Through the window, the sky's just beginning to lighten in the east, but together they pretend it's still perfectly dark

* * *

**11.**  
 **Option:** Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** D/s, light bdsm

Freedom

Arthur closed his eyes and tried to relax. He knew the room was just dimly lit even though a blindfold kept him from checking. And since his hands were bound with a soft black silk scarf and tied to the headboard, he couldn’t even attempt to lift the blindfold to peek. He wouldn’t have done so anyway. He knew that the game would be over immediately. 

For a while, he’d heard Merlin rummage in the background, probably preparing all the things he needed for tonight. But then the door had opened and closed and then there was nothing but silence. Arthur’s heart was beating wildly. Merlin wouldn’t leave him here like that, would he? All by himself, unable to move. Okay, he could move his legs, but he had been ordered not to. So he wouldn’t. He tugged at the scarf that held his wrists above his head and even though it was soft, it didn’t give. 

Arthur felt fear prickling in his neck. What if Merlin didn’t come back? What if he just left him here, bound, half-hard and with a butt pug up his arse? Just as panic tried to take over, the door opened but Merlin didn’t say a word. 

Arthur sucked in a breath when he felt something touching him. What was this? It…damn, that tickled!

“Shhh.” What came as a whisper was actually a command. Arthur knew he only had to make one sound and it was over. But he didn’t want it to be over, so he bit his lower lip and shivered when the ‘something’ – which seemed to be a peacock feather – was dragged along his body. He felt his nipples harden and his cock spring back to full attention. Damn, Merlin knew he was ticklish!

Squirming a bit, Arthur sucked his belly in when the feather touched him. This was torture. But he craved more! When the feather was lifted, Arthur arched his back, trying to make contact again.

All he got for this was a little slap on the belly. “Greedy little slut.”

He almost smiled. The words were insulting, but the tone of voice was too affectionate for that. Merlin enjoyed the show he gave him.

The feather was back on him in no time, teasing his inner thighs, making him spread them further. He wanted to feel the feather everywhere. It tickled, yes, but it also sent shivers through him like never before. Merlin…he needed him. 

Arthur almost yelled out when the feather touched his cock, sliding along the hardness, getting messy and sliding back down to his balls, but could hold it back in the last second. Not a word, Merlin had said. 

The feather was gone and Arthur felt Merlin’s hand slapping lightly against his hip. The sign to turn over. But instead of untying his hands, or at least removing the scarf from the headboard, Merlin let him work for it. So he scrambled around until he was on his elbows and knees, his forehead leaning against his bound wrists, his arse up in the air. He knew Merlin liked him that way and smiled when he heard a little appreciative sound. 

Then the feather was on his back, sliding down his spine and he arched and tried to move against Merlin, but a sharp slap on his butt made him stop the action. Once again he bit back a gasp when the touch of the feather contrasted with the sting that Merlin’s fingers had left. 

Arthur felt himself drifting off even more. For once, he didn’t need to think, didn’t need to be in control. Someone else was doing that for him. It wasn’t even his to decide when or if he would come. Freedom!

The tickling touch that had reached his arse was gone and the butt plug removed quickly. A low whine escaped Arthur’s throat, but the emptiness was replaced with a long hard cock and the sounds he made turned into low moans. 

As Merlin pounded into him, his hands gripping Arthur’s hips so tightly that it would leave marks, Arthur floated. He didn’t care about the marks or that he would be so sore that he would ache for days. His whole world came down to Merlin’s cock pushing into his spot again and again. 

“Now.”

Just a little word, almost whispered, but that was his sign. Arthur yelled out, came hard and then his world went black.

* * *

**12.**  
 **Option:** Light and Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warnings:** none

“Hi, I hope I’m not interrupting,” Merlin says, smiling at Arthur.

“Not really.”

“Great. Awesome. So… Gwen told me you helped her set up her chandelier and didn’t even get electrocuted in the process, and she told me you seemed like you really knew what you were doing, and…”

“Can you get to the point?”

“Yeah, sure,” Merlin stammers out. “The light bulb in my lamp burst and I changed it, but it doesn’t light up when I try to turn it on.”

 

~x~

 

“My doorbell refuses to ring.”

 

~x~

 

“I think I broke the fairy lights.”

 

~x~

 

“The light in the kitchen makes this weird buzzing noise.”

“Seriously, I know this house is pretty old, but your flat must be cursed or something,” Arthur says, locking the door to his flat behind himself before following Merlin.

“Yeah, well...”

 

~x~ 

 

“It started to do that sound here too,” Merlin calls out from the bathroom.

Arthur joins him, glaring at the ceiling light as if it offends him. 

“Get me a chair, could you?”

 

~x~

 

He studies it for a while before tapping at it gently. That’s when the lights go out completely.

“What the fuck?” he curses, getting off the chair.

He bumps into Merlin in the total darkness.

“Fuses, maybe?” Merlin says, holding onto his wrist.

“Maybe,” Arthur says with a nod.

He lets Merlin guide him towards the main door. A second later, he trips over something and, unable to keep his balance, tumbles to the ground, bringing Merlin down too. He would swear there was nothing this big to trip over when he came into the flat.

“Ouch,” he yelps when one of Merlin’s limbs smacks him over his head.

“Sorry,” Merlin says and stills under Arthur.

“You’re a magnet for trouble,” Arthur utters, kneeling up.

Merlin obviously tries to do the same and ends up with his butt pressed to Arthur’s crotch. Arthur leans back on instinct, and Merlin’s body follows his motion. Somehow he manages to slump into Arthur’s lap. Arthur catches him before he can shift any more, his hand wrapped around Merlin’s waist. Merlin’s breath hitches.

“You planned this, haven’t you? You planned every single one of those 'malfunctions'.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Merlin says, trying to pull away.

“I’m not done with you yet,” Arthur says, tightening his grip.

He smirks when he feels Merlin melt into the embrace. He’s not one to push away such a blatant offering, especially when he spent many a night fantasizing about Merlin’s distractingly gorgeous body.

“Let’s see what we have here,” he whispers into Merlin’s ear and guides his hand lower, over Merlin’s cock which is hardening rapidly, trapped inside his jeans. “Well, well, well… aren’t you a naughty boy?” he murmurs, rubbing his own concealed erection against Merlin’s arse.

“Fuck,” Merlin utters, covering Arthur’s hand with his own and pressing harder over his cock.

“What was your plan then? Just a bit of ‘accidental’ groping? Or did you go further? Mutual handjobs? Or a blowjob? Your mouth would look so good stretched around my cock.”

“Arthur,” Merlin breathes out, his hips jerking forward.

“Do you know what I want?” Arthur says, trailing his lips alongside Merlin’s neck.

“Anything, Arthur, just… fuck…”

“Congratulation, Merlin. You guessed right,” Arthur says, slowly unzipping Merlin’s jeans. “I’m going to bend you over right here, finger you until you’re begging me to let you come and then I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll see stars.”

~x~

 

Arthur is a man of his word. Setting a relentless rhythm, he pounds into Merlin, his hand on Merlin’s shoulder, holding him down. He’s sure Merlin will have some interesting carpet burns. 

A few more hard thrusts and Arthur is tumbling over the edge. He doesn’t pull out, grips Merlin’s cock and starts stroking it. Merlin’s moans are getting louder and he’s tensing up. He comes with a sharp cry, his channel spasming around Arthur’s softening cock. The lights flicker in and out madly for a few seconds, before the room succumbs to darkness once more.

“Merlin, you sneaky little bastard,” Arthur says after a few moments of stunned silence.

He pulls out and turns Merlin onto his back. He lunges for a bruising kiss, cutting off Merlin’s panicked sputtering.

* * *

**13.**  
 **Option:** Light  & Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** Dark!Merlin, off-screen murder of minor character

Merlin thought that after the first fifty-odd years, he’d put away the grief and the anger that plagued him after Arthur's death. 

He was right about the grief. It came in fits and starts, a sadness that occasionally fell over him like a shroud, but it was no longer the same mind-numbing pain of the bereaved. And eventually, he coped. 

It wasn’t until he saw Mordred reborn later that the anger came back, white and blinding. Wanting to take. Snuff out. His magic, so much a part of him, grew restless, strained under his skin. Thirsty and— _waiting_.

The first time was always the most difficult, he’d muse later.

***

“‘Morning, Merlin,” Arthur says to him, smiling. The sun’s rays catch on his flaxen hair and it lights up like a halo. _A sun god_ , Merlin thinks faintly.

“Good morning,” he says. 

This Arthur is different. His first encounter with him hadn’t been... prattish. Rather formal. They work on the same floor and take the same smoke breaks. See? His Arthur wouldn’t have come within ten metres of a cigarette. _Ruins your lungs_ , he’d say in that snotty voice.

Arthur takes an interest in him, he can tell. It’s in the way his eyes focus on him when he speaks, two points of blue that excite and unnerve him; the way they dip to his lips and linger, filling him with a warmth that stays, sticky like treacle.

They go out for lunch. Chicken and avocado sandwiches washed down with watery coffee, so bad that Arthur makes a face. “Cat piss,” he says in that posh accent. Merlin laughs. Oh, it’s a wonder to hear him swear.

Then it’s drinks at the pub with some mates from work, and the way Arthur casually places an arm on the seat behind Merlin makes his heart race, even after so many years. _You’re such a girl_ , he thinks to himself. It sounds like Arthur’s voice.

Two weeks later, Merlin asks him up to his flat.

***

“Oh fuck, you’re so lovely,” Arthur says, holding Merlin’s face in his hands and kissing him for the first time. It’s elbows everywhere and Arthur trips over some uneven flooring, nearly taking Merlin down with him. They stop, pull apart. Burst into peals of laughter, pleasantly loose from the pub’s cheap beer.

“Bedroom,” Merlin says, and tugs at Arthur’s wrist until they reach the bed, then fall onto each other, taking the wind out of him. 

He rubs his cock against Arthur’s groin, already hard, and fumbles to unzip both their trousers. Arthur doesn’t help much, moaning and frotting. His hands are under Merlin’s shirt, warm on his skin. Flesh to flesh. 

Merlin _thinks_ , and his magic helps, getting their trou off in record time. He laughs, giddy with it. His magic and Arthur in the same space. It’s been a long time since Camelot that this feels so ordinary. Strange. But the lust is the same as it was then—all-consuming, burning within the pit of his belly as Arthur grips his cock, tight, and pulls and pulls.

“I won’t last.” And then a gasp and he’s coming, spilling onto Arthur’s chest, everywhere. Arthur’s rubbing on his thigh and moaning into the curve of his shoulder still, and Merlin reaches down to fist his cock until he spurts into the mess between them.

***

Their relationship is five months old when Mordred arrives, a crack in their perfect life together.

He’s the new intern working with Arthur. Young, fresh-faced. Looks up to Arthur, and in turn Arthur guides him the best he can.

Merlin admits he’s jealous, and it stings that even in _this_ life, they get along. He grits his teeth and tries to ignore the simmering anger that the presence of Mordred always causes. It’s worse since Arthur is here.

Arthur’s in danger, he tells himself. Mordred is no good. Same as the very first one. A traitor, beneath those guileless eyes and the face that barely even needs shaving.

It’s easy to off him, then dump him in a rubbish dump. His magic removes all the fingerprints. He’s planning to go home to Arthur, cuddle and watch bad telly. 

But Arthur is behind him when he turns around.

* * *

**14.**  
 **Option:** Light  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** none

That first day, when you swaggered up to me and demanded, “Do I know you?”, I noticed the light.

It was behind you as you strode toward me, the morning sun shining on your stupid blond hair, and that stupid aggressive smile, and you looked like some sort of golden god.

I hated you as soon as you opened your mouth, of course.

But in the hours I spent lying on the cold stone floor of the dungeons, the first of many visits there chargeable to your account, I remembered the light of challenge in your eyes, and I wanted you.

Still hated you, though.

When you fought Valiant and defeated him, I saw you raise your sword to acknowledge the cheers of the crowd, and I saw relief and pride and humility playing across your face, and for the first time I understood what made you tick.

You were made to defend and uphold Camelot, not just by accident of birth, but with your body and your soul and your heart.  
I knew then that you would die for Camelot without a moment’s regret.

That night, I couldn’t sleep, even though I was exhausted. I kept replaying the fight with Valiant, and the way your sword flashed in the light. 

When you faced your challenge at the Labyrinth of Gedref, it was so bright as we sat at the table by the water. The light hurt my eyes, but I was more dazzled by your willingness to die for me.

We were friends by then, and when we came back we became more than friends.

I worshipped your body in sunlight and moonlight and candlelight and the light of a campfire when we slept rough. And your beauty shone in all of them.

 

I think my favorite times were the rare mornings in your chambers when I woke up before you did. When you woke up first, you were always so eager, touching me and pulling me on top of you even when I was half-asleep and protesting that I needed to pee.

But when I woke up first, I could look my fill.

You looked so much younger when you were asleep, when you weren’t wearing the carefully controlled expression required to survive as Uther’s only son.

I would drink you in, observing the way your eyelashes fanned out toward your cheekbones, those beautiful chiseled cheekbones that I loved to trace with my thumbs. The morning light would dance across your body, highlighting the muscles you worked so hard on in training every damn day, and the sparse hair on your chest, and your dark pink nipples. 

I would see all the scars on your chest and arms, and know exactly how much you had given for Camelot, and I would be selfishly grateful that none of the scars were on your face. 

Then I would tease the sheets down, being careful so I didn’t wake you, and I would notice the shadow of your navel, and the thin trail that led down to your cock, all plumped up and hopeful.

And then I would lose all my restraint, and kiss you awake, sometimes with kisses on the mouth, sometimes lower.  
I loved the sex, I loved being inside you, I loved it when we brought each other off with our hands, or our mouths. But even more I loved the soft light in your eyes when you looked at me, and I loved knowing there was a part of you that was just for me.

You could be playful in bed, or demanding, or rough if we were in the right mood, but there was never a single time when I didn’t feel like something precious under your hands. 

Or under your gaze.

Our last conversations were mostly by firelight. I finally told you my secret, and you accepted it. I held you as the light faded from your eyes.

You were the Light of Albion, and the light of my life.

I wait for you.

* * *

**15.**  
 **Option:** Light and Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Magic  
 **Warning(s):** magical bondage and sounding

There was a section in the very back of the library; a hidden section that Merlin was not even sure Geoffrey knew about. See, the only way to get to this section was with magic. The first time Merlin had found the room, it was all he could do to contain his glee. The books and bits and bobs were, in fact, magical. 

Most of these things were what Gaius had once referred to as Light Magicks; the useful spells that were used to help or heal. Perhaps the most surprising (and most interesting) find, was the small leather-bound book he found tucked away in a corner. It had intrigued him from the start, for its cover was completely blank. Merlin bit his lip, looking down at the innocuous black cover. After a moment of deliberation, he slipped the book under his tunic and dashed out of the room.

When he got back to his chambers, he rushed past the empty fore chamber (Gaius must have been out collecting those herbs that he’d asked Merlin to pick over a week ago) and into his small bedroom. He stood at the end of his bed, breath faster than normal, and with shaking hands brought out the little black book from beneath his tunic.

With no little trepidation, he flipped the book open, incidentally to the same page he had spied before. This time, he kept the book open, taking in the black and white sketches that covered the page, glancing briefly over the small spidery writing that accompanied each image. He began turning the pages, curious to see more of what the book had to offer.

For the most part, each drawing was the same as the first, risqué and intriguing and entirely embarrassing should he be caught looking at such things. Others made his stomach clench as he wondered why anyone would _want_ such things done to them. They were grotesque in their use, what he would surely label as Dark magicks, though the images didn’t seem to be of harming anyone. Then, Merlin landed on a page that did not make him cringe or his balls to shrink in sympathy. In fact the image on this page marked the first time his dick had shown any real interest in the book.

On the page was a simple drawing of a man, his arms and legs spread out across a bed in an “X”. But what had truly caught Merlin’s eye was the tiny tendril of magic drawn over the man’s groin. Merlin drew the book closer to his face, close enough that his nose was almost to the page. He could just barely make out that the tendril was not simply going over the man’s groin, but was in fact going _into_ his penis!

Merlin blinked and sat back. How could that possibly be at all pleasurable? But the more he thought on it, the more curious he became. Determined, he took a deep breath and gave the spell another glance. Satisfied he could pronounce it correctly, he set the book aside. He quickly stood and divested himself of his clothes before return to lie on his bed.

With the whispered words, his limbs were quickly tugged straight out, leaving his spread on the small cot. For a moment, nothing further happened. He almost figured he’d gotten the spell wrong, but then he felt a warm tickle on his cheek. Merlin gasped in awe as the trail of gold came into his sight, curving down to caress his chest. It moved over his stomach, feeling not unlike a warm mouth trailing kisses along the soft skin.

His cock, which had been hard and leaking from the start, twitched at the small brush of magic against it. Merlin couldn’t help the shuddery breath as he felt the magic twist and stroke along his thighs, down and back again in maddeningly soft touches. Then, without hesitation, the magic moved up to the tip of his cock and sank into the slit. Merlin shouted at the sensation. It was intimate on a level he’d never experienced before. Something was _inside_ his cock. 

Merlin could feel the tendril undulating inside him, fucking him. He gasped as the speed increased, moaned as it slowed. Soon enough his back was bowing, hips seeking for friction. A second tendril of magic broke off, sliding down behind his balls and pressing. Merlin come with a hoarse shout, come and magic spurting from his cock to land on his stomach.

* * *

**16.**  
 **Option:** Light  & Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Morgana/Gwaine  
 **Warning(s):** none given

[Text from Morgana 6:52 P.M.]  
 _Electricity went out at the flat... Can you bring extra candles and a lighter on your way back?_

Gwaine texted back “Yes” as he left work, heading down the road to the flat that he and Morgana had just bought. 

[Text from Morgana 6:55 P.M.]  
 _Thanks babe_

Gwaine felt a warmth spread in his chest, like every other time Morgana did or said something even remotely affectionate. She was not a very affectionate person, so when it was directed at him he felt the need to savor the moment. 

~*~

Gwaine saw them by accident, actually. He had been going through the aisles looking for candles and spotted one more box of them and thought, _perfect_.

~*~

“Mmm, so-- ah-- eager tonight,” Morgana moaned and chuckled into his ear. They were naked now, lying in bed, Gwaine grinding his cock down against her belly. 

“Got a surprise for ya,” Gwaine said, grinning against her bare shoulder. He loved her silky skin, the way she smelled, her hair sliding down her back. She was a beautiful goddess of a woman, and for some strange reason she had chosen to spend her time with him, share her bed and heart. It was more than Gwaine could ever ask for and he tried so hard to just keep her as happy as he could. 

“Oh really?” She said in that particular tone where Gwaine just knew, without looking, that she was smirking that smirk. He looked up-- yup-- and watched her lips for a moment before leaning down to give her a lingering kiss. 

“Yeah,” he whispered against her lips, nibbling on her bottom one for a moment before he leaned over and reached for his jeans on the floor. He felt her eyes on him as he grabbed the wrapper from his pocket, tossed the jeans and blew out the candle on their nightstand.

“Gwaine! I’m not fucking in the bloody dark--”

“Sshhh,” he interrupted her, kissing her hard as he quickly unwrapped and fumbled for a moment before slipping the condom on, stroking his cock and leaning up slightly. 

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust he could tell before her head lifted and she looked down. “What the--” Morgana burst out laughing and he grinned. Mission accomplished. “Is that-- is that a glow in the dark condom?!”

“Fuck yeah it is!” Gwaine grinned. Her laugh was the sexiest thing in the world. “My cock is now a glowing beacon for your pussy! It shall lead our way in the darkness!”

She laughed so hard she actually clung to him, her arms and legs wrapping around him like a silky vine and he succumbed, pressing against her, cock nudging her entrance. 

“Alright then, show my pussy the light,” she giggled, bucking up and engulfing him into her, cock quickly wrapped around her slick heat. 

He moaned into her neck, thrusting all the way in and giving her a few moments to adjust. One hand was by her head while the other was just rubbing down her back and side, awed as he always was by how perfectly they fit together. “Morgana-- love, you’re--gods-- perfect--”

“That I am,” Morgana panted into his ear, arching into him like a harp’s string and he had never heard anything so sweet as the melody of her skin against his. “This is-- ah! This is kinda hot actually-- can’t see you, just-- feel you-- more intense--”

“Mmm,” he groaned in agreement as he pulled out and fucked back in, thrusting against her and filling himself with her moans of pleasure and the way her hips moved. “Could spend hours like this-- just rockin’ in ya, babe.”

Her voice was soft, full of light and laughter as she curled her fingers through his hair and gripped the back of his shoulder. “As lovely as that would be, I don’t think your glow in the dark condom would be quite that sustainable.”

“You’re right,” Gwaine said, thrusting in a bit faster, reaching down to rub her clit in circles, the most powerful way he knew how to make her orgasm. “How about you come for me a few times first then? I’ve got a whole pack of these bright lovelies.”

For the first time, her orgasm’s shouts were mixed with laughter and she remained wrapped around him the entire night afterwards, no light necessary.

* * *

**17.**  
 **Option:** Light  & Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** none

A thousand years have passed, and the Royal offspring isn't Arthur (Merlin did the sniff test, which... awkward, and the baby smelled of baby, not destiny). Times aren't dire enough yet then, even as the water is lapping higher on the shores and the markets are dropping lower. Merlin hangs around another five hundred years, Arthur's never been the most reliable, but as technology is advancing, Merlin decides to throw himself into it.

DeepFreeze has him walk into a crystal cave of his own making. It'd be dumb luck if he missed him in the meantime but he trusts fate and dragon promises that, well, he'd know somehow.

When they unlock him, the world is a little darker and a little more sullen, pouting at everything at the drop of a hat and kicking a hurricane here, floods there and fire the next day. It gets dark early and stays dark most of the day, the sun not making it through the smog to reach them down below. People walk with headlamps and torches, glow-in-the-dark clothes with patterns for fashion and blinking colours for accessories. Merlin just walks in the dark.

He looks through the news for the royals (gone) and the people in charge (none scream Arthur), and then he just walks the streets, alone between glimmers of brightness. 

A woman talks to him about the kind of love that only exists once in a lifetime, as he settles on a bench that no bus ever stops at with another few poor souls who look a little worse for wear, lamps barely blinking.

The city isn't Camelot from then, nor is it London from later. He sleeps in doorways and eats scraps, keeping his eyes open and his nose sniffing for something that's a bit of what he was promised.

All the shit and then all the glory, it had boiled down to, but he's been wading for millennia now (well, frozen for some of it, who could blame him for a short cut). He's a bit sick of sniffing shit, and he's a bit lonely. He touches himself sometimes. He could get laid but everyone seems in a hurry to disappear back into the dark while he has too much time on his hands.

He gets drawn in by a shop on the corner. It glows bright with fixtures for heads and hands and legs, with clothes that throw light far onto the sidewalks. He slips inside as someone steps out, but there is little room to melt into a corner here if he doesn't go for a bit of magic.

He doesn't, not when the light sinks into his bones.

Merlin stands between two displays, looking like the man who got defrosted and spit out by time, with spotlights on him, while Arthur is on the other side of the shop floor, light reflecting off his hair. He is only oblivious for a moment (a minute, maybe two) longer.

"You're selling lights," Merlin says when Arthur stands in front of him. He leans and sniffs (no shit).

"People need lights."

"I need you. You're..." He wants to say, "my light," and settles on, "late," for the heck of it. Both are true.

When Arthur comes up from the shop floor later, Merlin stands at the window in the dark and watches people below glowing like fireflies in a cold world. Arthur steps up behind him, undresses him and turns on the lights. They kiss, and Merlin doesn't dare close his eyes as he runs his hands over Arthur's body, to his cock, takes him in hand and in mouth. Arthur glows. Merlin braces himself against the window as Arthur puts one, then two fingers into him and fucks him slowly for everyone on the streets below to see. He slips his cock in after, all the way, and fucks into him.

"Everyone carries a bit of light into the world for me," Arthur says, thrusts hard enough to have Merlin moan and fog the glass with his breath, fireflies barely visible beyond. "I've been waiting for you to find me."

Merlin keeps his eyes open until the brightness of the lamps leaves spots in his eyes, pulling on his cock until he smears the glass. "I've been stuck in the dark for too long," he says and laughs and comes (he's been saving it for a thousand years).

"No more," Arthur says.

Well, he's got a whole shop floor of lights after all.

* * *

**18.**  
 **Option:**  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** none given

Arthur is sun-kissed and golden, his skin burnished by the hours spent training with sword and shield. Everything about him marks him for the summer child that he is. The Sun's rays favor him, embracing him, and he seems to glow wherever he is. His body radiates strength and he draws others to him. He is robust, his presence undeniable, and so beautiful to look at that sometimes it hurts. He is the day's own son, sunbeams molded into the form of a man, and he shines like gold.

Arthur knows that he rules the day but Merlin comes alive at night and it's _breathtaking_. 

If Arthur is born of the Sun, then Merlin is undeniably the Moon's child.

Merlin is as pale and fair as Arthur is golden, his body slim and soft where Arthur's is thick and strong. But Arthur knows that Merlin is far from weak. Out here in the forest, just the two of them under the bright harvest moon, the raw power that emanates from Merlin's nude form is intoxicating. His skin seems to absorb the moonlight, reflecting it back tenfold until he looks like some wild ethereal thing, fey and beautiful.

Standing by the edge of the lake, his face upturned to the sky and his arms outstretched, Merlin looks untamed and untouchable, like he might disappear behind a cloud the moment Arthur reaches for him. Drops of lake water still cling to Merlin's body, glistening like tiny crystals in the moonlight and Arthur is overcome by the desire to swallow each one, to lick the precious stones from Merlin's body and feel that raw energy coursing through him.

But Arthur knows he has no power here. The dark hours belong to Merlin. Merlin is a child of the night and his magic has dominion over this place.

Every time they do this, Arthur stands trembling like it's the first time. He's King of Camelot and yet he feels no shame at being utterly cowed in this moment. His cock has been hard for what feels like forever and he's quite sure that his gooseprickles will never fade, but for once Arthur makes no move to hurry things along. He knows how powerful this magic is, how necessary it is to ensuring that Camelot's fields yield a bountiful harvest, and for those reasons alone he would never interrupt.

But more than anything, it's how terrifyingly _gorgeous_ Merlin looks right now that keeps Arthur in his place. Merlin wears his hair longer now than when they were young and it flows down to his shoulders, glinting silver-black and rippling with magic like the rest of him. Merlin's eyes burn gold as they only do on this night and Arthur shields his own when Merlin's finally turns that gaze upon him. 

_'It's time.'_

The words echo in Arthur's mind even as he gazes at Merlin's motionless lips. Rolling his eyes, Arthur closes the distance between them with measured strides. 

'Show off,' he murmurs, letting Merlin draw him into a soft kiss. The heat of Merlin's body against his own cool skin is a shock and he draws Merlin closer still. 

Arthur feels the shift in Merlin's breath a split second before their kiss turns deep and primal. He feels the sting across his back a moment before Merlin rakes his nail across the skin, opening up red lines of delicious pain that will mark him for days. When Merlin guides them down to the grass, it's almost as though the ground rises up to cradle them. Arthur's palms slide into their place against Merlin's hips, his thumbs pressed against the delicate bones there. 

Every moment is familiar and somehow brand new all at once. 

Merlin's body arching over him, long and sinuous. 

His fingers in Arthur's hair, the tension at Arthur's nape when Merlin grips tight for leverage and splits himself open on Arthur's cock. 

The pain that sears his skin as the runes painted across Merlin's chest begin to burn hot like embers.

The way his vision seems to go white as he thrusts up and up, trying to paint the Moon with his release as he fills Merlin warm and thick.

The way Merlin arches his back and cries out, deep and guttural, ancient magic pulsating in the air.

Arthur cradles Merlin against his chest when his lover collapses against him. He'll sleep until the sun rises, Arthur knows. Settling Merlin against him, Arthur follows.

* * *

**19.**  
 **Option:** light  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** none

Arthur gazed up at the skies above him aware their time together was growing short. He couldn’t help himself as the skies painted in hues of vibrant delight shone down creating a watercolour masterpiece along the pale skin of a lowly manservant in the arms of a prince; slowly, Arthur bent his head to softly rub his lips along the line of his lover’s collarbone following the strong line to his shoulder, where he lay a kiss so soft it could have been the sweep of a butterfly’s wing. 

A contented sigh came from the rise and fall of Merlin’s chest.

Arthur smiled into his lover’s neck and began to press soft kisses just below his ear. He received the reaction he always did; a trembling Merlin, moaning softly and arching up into his lover’s arms. Arthur sighed sadly looking once more to the licks of flaming orange burning up skies that would slowly turn to a calming blue far too soon. “We should head back, love… Camelot beckons.”

“No… Please, don’t stop… It felt so nice,” came the desperate plea from his lover. 

He pulled back enough to look into dazzling eyes, still shadowed with morning exhaustion. “How am I ever to refuse you?”

He leaned in, lips ghosting across his lover’s. There was a silent moment as the words ‘I love you’ were not spoken, but breathed in unison by two souls crying out as one, before lips sought out lips in a languorous show of affection and devotion.

Their bodies moulded together in lover’s dance as though made to fit together. Soft, needy moans escaped Merlin’s lips and were swallowed by his prince in their wanton kiss. Slowly Arthur’s kisses wandered down his lover’s body, which lay shivering with anticipation. Arthur knew what he wanted, what he ached for, but would Merlin allow him.

The prince continued on his journey south, noting each tremble as he kissed every spot he knew his lover to be sensitive in. He knew every curve of his beloved’s body. When his tongue dipped into the defined line of those sharp hips, Merlin bucked and cried out, gripping the gold hair intertwined in his slim fingers. 

“Merlin…?”

“Yes… Arthur, please… Please?” As sweet as the nightingale’s song to the prince’s ears. 

Moments later, Arthur’s warm tongue curled around his lover’s proud cock, tasting him and moaning at the luscious flavour that assaulted his senses. 

Merlin groaned and his hips stuttered as Arthur bathed his hard erection with his skilful tongue and lips. 

He swirled the tip of his tongue around the straining head of his cock and without another moment swallowed him down, loving the way he filled his mouth.

Merlin pulled at his prince’s hair bucking into his waiting mouth. The strong hands of said prince held his hips still so that he could work a magic all of his own. As his grip loosened on Merlin’s hips, he allowed Merlin to buck repeatedly into the cavern of his mouth, giving over all the control to his desperate lover. The two men burned with unbridled passion as their bodies sweat-slicked and dampened with the morning dew convulsed against the other. He took himself in his firm hand and stroked his own cock as he sucked harder on Merlin and flicked that careful tongue wildly within his mouth.

“Arthur… ugh, I can’t… Arthur, oh… love you… so much, so good… Arthur!” A litany of cries as Merlin arched his back divinely forcing himself deeper into his prince’s welcoming, greedy mouth. 

The prince pumped his own cock harder as he felt his lover become overwhelmed and moaned harshly around his cock. 

Neither was sure whom the scream came from as they soared into bliss. Merlin came so very hard that Arthur struggled to swallow every drop of his beloved’s essence, while soaring to newfound heights of pleasure in his own orgasm. 

Wave after wave of ecstasy devoured the two lovers as they became entangled in one another. A kiss of pure devotion was shared as they fell from their cloud and back into one another’s arms. The vibrant crimsons of the sunrise a thing of the past as the rich blue fell upon them, they knew their time together for this day was over, and yet they spent one long, last moment wrapped in one another, the rest of the world ignored as only the other existed. This was the place in which they were simply them, and simply in love.

* * *

**20.**  
 **Option:** Light  & Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur/Knights, Merlin/Gwaine  
 **Warning(s):** dubcon, foreign object insertion, voyeurism, public sex, intoxication  
 **Note:** [This is a saddle horn](http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-swy_F0NWhvI/TspujCPh6NI/AAAAAAAAB3w/U2vZffrA1YE/s400/ML+Leddy+Saddle+Horn.jpg). I don't think a medieval knight would actually have one, but OH WELL.

Gwaine has a sneaking suspicion that he is most sober person present. It’s a rather alarming possibility. 

Because yes, he may have started singing the bawdy songs earlier in the night, and yes, he may have instigated the series of dirty bets, but he was _bluffing_. That’s what men do, in Gwaine’s experience. They challenge each other to obscene and physically improbable tasks, and then promptly forget about them.

No one is ever going to forget this.

“Arthur,” Gwaine tries. “Are you really going to let him do this?”

Arthur doesn’t even look at Gwaine; his mouth is open, his color high, his eyes fixed on Merlin. “A challenge has been made, Sir Gwaine.”

Merlin’s kneeling in the dirt near the fire, naked from the waist down. Gwaine can just glimpse his fingers working the oil between his legs.

“Come on, Merlin!” Percival calls out. “Enough. Do it.”

Merlin sighs, but shuffles backward and kneels up to situate himself over the horn of the saddle Gwaine had tossed onto the ground. It had been a _joke_ , for Christ’s sake. A stupid, over-the-top, lascivious—

“Sweet Lord,” Leon says out loud when Merlin brings himself down. He pauses at the top of the horn, his hips swivelling and shoulders squaring, but then he bears down.

Percival whoops, and Elyan starts a slow clap.

Gwaine cannot take his eyes off of Merlin’s face. His mouth initially screws up against the pain or the intensity, but as he moves down ever so slowly, his lips gape and stretch apart as if some invisible gag were inserted there. He’s clearly trying to avoid any embarrassing noises, but his breath heaves louder and louder until his panting becomes the predominant sound—louder even than the fire crackling or the rustle of wind through the trees. 

There’s no more boisterous encouragement from the knights after that. The mood shifts abruptly into something else. Percy and Elyan are silent and stone-faced, shifting minutely in their sprawl against one another. Leon’s got his eyes averted but a death grip on the handle of the ale jug. Even Arthur—normally so eager to see Merlin made ridiculous—is developing a twitchy moue, his smirk slipped away.

There’s comes a small, quick sound—a bitten off keen—and Merlin drops his arse that last inch to rest against the pommel. Gwaine can’t see anything, really, where Merlin’s legs cast dark shadows, but he can imagine it. The fire blurs for an instant as the dark pink hue of an arsehole flashes in Gwaine’s mind’s eye: the way it must’ve swallowed the fat head of the horn.

“Well—” and Arthur’s voice cracks on the word. He clears his throat. “Well. I declare Merlin the winner of the challenge.”

“Well done,” Elyan says lowly, and Percy and Leon join him in stilted congratulations. They are all too, too drunk for this.

“Pay the forfeit, Gwaine,” Percival slurs.

Gwaine blinks several times, parsing that. “I don’t remember what it was.”

“I do.” Merlin’s voice is dangerous, and half an octave lower than normal. It makes Gwaine shiver. “Get down here and suck my cock.”

Gwaine’s taken three steps forward before his brain catches up with him. “But. Don’t you want to…”

Arthur says it for him. “You can get off that thing now, Merlin.” He’s trying for a tone of imperious command and not quite reaching it.

Merlin narrows his eyes but doesn’t argue. He lifts his arse a bare inch before making a shocked little noise and dropping down again. “I can’t. I can’t. Just—”

“What, are you stuck?” Arthur asks, horror creeping into his expression.

“ _Gwaine_ ,” Merlin snaps, and Gwaine never followed an order so fast in his life, he’s on his knees so quick. “Suck me,” Merlin says, his fingers already pulling Gwaine’s hair. “I can get off it, I just need some distraction. Suck me.”

Gwaine sucks him. He buries his face in Merlin’s lap, and doesn’t look up when there begin to come slick, smacking noises about him. Noises like wanking, or maybe kissing. But he doesn’t look, just licks and suckles until Merlin’s hard and shaking.

Merlin kneels up off the horn just as he’s coming in Gwaine’s mouth, and the _sound_ he makes when he does—. Gwaine will remember that. He doesn’t care how drunk and dizzy he is, he will remember that sound forever.

Everyone pretends to forget about it the day after. No one does.

* * *

**21.**  
 **Option:** Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** light breathplay, D/s undertones, thoughts of violence

The contrast between Merlin's skin and the dark paint takes Arthur's breath away. He loves it, the way Merlin is so pale in the light of the room, the way the black prints - Arthur's fingers, palms - are bottomless pits. Arthur presses his fingers into the hollow of Merlin's clavicles, wraps his hands around that slim throat, and forgets to breathe. The contrast is too much, the way it speaks to him, calls out for him. If he just tightens his grip - 

Merlin is the one bound to the bed, the one with the safeword, but it's Arthur who jerks away, curling in on himself as he whispers "dragon" over and over. His hands are still smeared with black paint, but he forgets and runs his fingers through his hair, down his face, leaving trails of black in their wake. Dimly, he hears Merlin shift and call his name, and knows that he needs to be responsible and untie Merlin, but the thought of even looking at Merlin, still painted and so vulnerable beneath his hands - it's terrifying in ways Arthur can't understand.

Minutes later, or maybe seconds later, Arthur feels arms wrap around his torso. It occurs to him to wonder how Merlin got free of the ropes, but he doesn't actually question anything. All that matters is that Merlin has his arms around Arthur, and Arthur can relax into his boyfriend, feeling the encompassing terror slowly dissipate. After a few minutes, he's breathing normally, and Arthur manages to wrap his arms around Merlin in return.

"Want to talk about it?" Merlin asks, and Arthur just shakes his head. How do you admit to someone that you had just tightened your fingers, had just let go for one moment...? The darkness that lingers in his soul is not something he ever wants to discuss, especially not with Merlin. 

Merlin doesn't say anything to that, only tightens his arms around Arthur, hands running up and down his back. Neither of them pay attention to the dark paint - it had been Arthur's suggestion, meant to be playful but something much more. He clings to Merlin, torn between wanting to disappear and wanting Merlin to stay forever. 

There's a terror he keeps close to his heart, that he'll turn out like Uther, who killed people for being different, or like Morgana, who killed people for not being different. He can't deal with the thought, doesn't want to leave behind a reputation that makes people cringe and whisper in fear. He doesn't want - 

"You're nothing like them," Merlin murmurs, pressing a kiss to Arthur's forehead. "You wouldn't do anything like them." 

The words shatter Arthur.

-

When he can finally see through the tears, Merlin is still there, still running his hands up and down his back.

"I love you," Arthur says, exhausted and drained. It's the only thing he can think of, how happy - how lucky - he is to have Merlin there. He presses a kiss to Merlin's lip before Merlin can actually say anything. Arthur doesn't need the reassurance that his feelings are returned. He knows.

The kiss is tender and sweet with Merlin tangling his hands in Arthur's hair. Arthur is dimly aware of the paint once again, but it doesn't hold the same power. All he can think of is how much of a pain it will be to get out later. 

He shifts and stretches out on the floor. Merlin settles over him, their bodies pressed together. Arthur isn't necessarily interested in getting off, feels no need to rush through anything, but he still arches his back, grinds his hips against Merlin's. He wants the comfort of Merlin's weight above him, wants to make sure Merlin is okay, wants to make sure Merlin is there, always. 

"Arthur," Merlin sighs, and Arthur shivers. They're kissing again, while they move in tandem with each other, slow and steady and relaxed. It doesn't take long for both their cocks to harden, but neither of them speed up their movements. It's the first time in a long time where they haven't been focused on orgasms, or the games they normally play during sex, and it's nice. Not something Arthur wants all the time, but comforting and wonderful and lovely when he needs all of those. 

His orgasm sneaks up on him. Arthur doesn't feel his balls tighten, his stomach muscles clench, just feels the sudden release of tension, and he goes limp, safe in Merlin's arms.

* * *

**22.**  
 **Option:** Light  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** n/a

Merlin blinks awake long before any of the other servants. In the dim candlelight, he sits up and wriggles out of his white sleep tunic, donning a colorful one in its place, then moves on to fumbling with the fastenings on his boots and his neckerchief, his fingers sleep-clumsy.

Once dressed, he inches down the creaky stairs, careful not to disturb Gaius snoring on his cot. He splashes his face with cool water from the basin, washing crust from his eyes and dirt from his skin. Breakfast is grab-and-go; he snatches up a large red apple he was lucky enough to acquire from the kitchens yesterday, tugs on his jacket, and slips out of the workshop.

The castle corridors are long and empty, but familiar, and as the rest of Merlin's day is usually quite busy, he enjoys having the stroll and breakfast to himself; gives him time to wake up. He ambles along, occasionally taking a bite out of his apple, until he finds himself at the door to Arthur's chambers. He doesn't knock, because the noise would wake Arthur; he just lets himself in, shutting the door soundlessly and leaning back against it. He sinks his teeth into the apple for another sweet bite and nearly chokes on it.

The privacy curtains surrounding Arthur's bed are all open, which he expected because Arthur only shuts them when he's genuinely miffed at Merlin and he hasn't done anything _too_ annoying recently, but Arthur's kicked off all the bedsheets as well, or tried to--the bloodred silk is tangled and twisted around one of his ankles. He's naked, lying prone on his stomach and turned away towards the window so only the back of his very blonde head is visible.

Gods, even before Arthur lacked the inner character to match his outer beauty, Merlin found him beautiful, but now, sprawled carelessly in his sleep, he's breathtaking. Apple forgotten, Merlin watches the morning sun spill over Arthur's tanned skin, illuminating the fine golden hairs that seem to have been dusted over his whole body. His eyes linger on Arthur's form with a leisure he's rarely allowed, tracing the firm curve of buttocks, the bend of a knee, even admiring the soles of his oversized feet. Why should Arthur wear a paltry band of metal when the gods provided him a crown of golden hair that shines in the sun?

And what would Arthur say if he could hear these thoughts? _Writing poetry again, are we, Mer-lin?_ he'd smirk. But he'd be just the tiniest bit pleased. It was all there to see in his eyes, if only you cared to look, and Merlin always looks, long and hard. He's quite possibly the only person in Arthur's life who isn't afraid of his blustering.

Smiling, Merlin collects the silver platter from the dining table and walks it downstairs to fetch Arthur's breakfast. As always, the kitchens are torture, steaming hot and wafting with delicious scents, but thankfully Arthur's dishes have already been prepared and laid out, just waiting for him to pick up. "Thanks!" Merlin calls out cheerily, but the head cook is buried in pots and barely spares him a glance, grumbling something incomprehensible.

By the time he arrives back at Arthur's chambers, he's broken a light sweat, but nothing's spilled, so he sets the platter down carefully, beaming a little. He's hankering to sneak a slice of bacon, but he resists; if Arthur's in a good mood, he'll probably let him have the leftovers.

And Arthur's awake now, must be--his face is planted firmly in the pillow, but his toes are curling, buttocks clenching, muscles flexing... oh. Merlin's face flames as he recognizes that slow, instinctive rolling of hips. Arthur's humping his morning wood against the bed, so intent on finding release he apparently didn't hear Merlin enter.

Merlin should say something, anything, to alert Arthur to his presence but he doesn't, and he can't look away, his heart racing faster with every soft, stifled cry Arthur makes, the occasional impatient swiveling of his hips, the way his hands scrabble at the sheets for greater purchase.

Even in this, Arthur is restrained; the only sound that escapes him is a quiet, muffled groan as he cums, hips jerking rhythmically until he's spent and slumped. His back rises and falls rapidly as he tries to catch his breath; Merlin, for his part, tries very hard not to breathe at all, so as not to break the spell.

* * *

**23.**  
 **Option:** Light and Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Unrequited Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** None

“You have a steady hand, Merlin,” Gaius said when he came upon Merlin drawing the Mortaeus flower in the book he had started keeping.

Merlin was pleased with the drawing of the flower, and he flushed at Gaius' praise as he turned through the pages of Merlin's sketches. It had been a childhood pursuit. Young Merlin would get in trouble with his mum for wasting berries, using their juice to draw pictures of woodland animals on the stable wall. Occasionally, a peddler would come through Ealdor with parchment among his wares, and Merlin would trade nearly anything for it.

His most prized possession he brought to Camelot was a sketchbook.

Merlin was prouder of this collection of his drawings, but he didn't dare show them to Gaius. He kept it hidden alongside the Grimoire under the loose floorboards in his room.

He had added to it that morning, in the early hours before the castle was awake and bustling, before the rooster had given its cry. The day before, he had been too preoccupied to finish cleaning Arthur's chambers. His day had been spent helping Gaius gather herbs in anticipation of the fever that tore through Camelot once the weather started to cool. Determined not to disappoint Arthur, Merlin awoke in the early hours and crept to Arthur's rooms to pick up the clothing and maps and discarded dishes that accumulated during a day.

At dawn, Merlin went to rouse Arthur, but the sight of the sleeping prince made him stop in his tracks. The sun was softly licking Arthur's skin, lapping at the rise of his shoulder. As the sun rose, the patch began to grow, spreading across Arthur's taut back muscles where the sheet had slipped low, teasing the bridge of Arthur's nose, where his head was resting on his pillow.

Merlin couldn't keep his fingers from twitching. He needed to put charcoal to parchment, to capture that quiet moment where Prince Arthur was free from all burden and duty, awash in the pure, golden glow of a new day.

So Merlin slipped back to Gaius' chambers, retrieved his book, and sketched a few lines, enough to commit the planes of Arthur's body to memory so he could add the shadows later.

It was by the glow of a candle that night he brought the book out again. In practiced strokes, he filled in the grey areas, pressing harder with his charcoal to create more contrast, using his thumb to blend the harsh sketch lines into a seamless image. The most difficult area to capture was Arthur's face. Merlin sharpened his charcoal to a point, and then hunched over the paper, painstakingly playing with line and shade to capture Arthur's sturdy jaw, pillowing lips, and eyelashes that fanned above his cheekbones as he slept.

By the time he finished, the sleeping prince's form was barely visible on the parchment in what remained of the candle stub. In contrast to the fading flame, Merlin was starting to heat with arousal.

Merlin didn't have any carnal knowledge to speak of, but he knew he wanted to touch. To trace the patterns where the sun kissed Arthur's body. To trace his fingertips along the edges where shadows began. To dip his fingers underneath the bed sheets to the places Arthur never let the sun dare reach. 

Though Arthur was a prince, he was also a warrior, his body hardened by years of swinging swords and riding horses. But he was soft in places, too, and Merlin could never resist stealing glances, seeking the hidden soft places, as Arthur bathed. That vulnerability was present in his sleep, so Merlin let his charcoal follow where his hands could not.

He touched himself instead. He pulled his manhood from his breeches and gripped himself tightly. He wondered what it would feel like to have Arthur's strong, calloused hand around his prick instead. Or what it would be like to rub himself between the curved cheeks of Arthur’s arse, the perfect roundness only hinted in Merlin's drawing, obscured by Arthur's sheets.

The closer he came to losing control of his desire, the more he lost control of his magic. It was for that reason he didn't often indulge in pleasure. His dying candle flame surged with his power as he grew close. The brilliant glow illuminated Arthur's likeness, and Merlin’s heart clenched with want as he spilled into his hand. 

On the parchment, Arthur’s sleeping form didn’t stir.

* * *

**24.**  
 **Option:** Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Morgana/Lancelot/Gwen  
 **Warning(s):** dub-con (considering Lancelot's controlled state), voyeurism, 

Arthur and Merlin are gone. Gwen doesn’t know where. Knights and guards lay where they were slaughtered or fill Camelot’s dungeons. 

Gwen faces Morgana alone and expects death.

“I’m giving you another chance.” Morgana reclines on the throne, pets Lancelot like a dog as he kneels beside her. “He obeys my command. He’ll stay by your side to make sure you don’t betray me again.”

A lump forms in Gwen’s throat but she nods.

~*~

Morgana locks them in the servant’s quarters next to her chambers. There’s one small bed.

Gwen doesn’t sleep. She lies on the bed and gazes at Lancelot. He stares at the floor and looks lost.

~*~

Morgana makes Gwen watch.

She sits naked on the throne. Lancelot is on his knees before her and Morgana grinds herself against his mouth.

Gwen gasps as Lancelot’s tongue drags over the exposed nub of Morgana’s wet cunt. A hot twist pulses between her legs.

As Morgana’s moans fill the room, Gwen watches her body shudder in orgasm, finds her gaze drawn to the bounce of her breasts.

She remembers what it felt like to have Morgana’s tongue inside her.

~*~

“Come.” Gwen reaches out to him a few nights later.

He goes to her, lays on top of the blankets rather than crawl under them. 

Gwen questions his memory but it makes her heart break. Morgana told Lancelot that Arthur stole the crown. Those loyal to him are traitors to be put to death.

She thinks of Elyan and his comrades in the dungeons. Morgana tortures them for Arthur’s whereabouts. They say nothing. 

“And me?”

Lancelot’s voice softens. “You’re kind, loyal and beautiful. I must keep you safe.”

“Morgana told you that?”

“No. But that’s what I remember.”

Gwen draws herself against him and Lancelot holds her close. For the first time since Morgana’s takeover, Gwen sleeps well.

~*~

Those of dark magic and bitter hatred for Uther gather in the city. They make puppet shows of the dead. They enchant captives to look like Uther, kill and burn them. They drag the knights from the dungeons and control their bodies make them fight each other until there’s more blood than dirt.

Gwen feels glad for Lancelot’s constant presence at her side. She sleeps in his arms. She’s safe there.

~*~

As Gwen watches, she tries not to moan at the sight of Morgana’s heaving breasts and Lancelot’s tongue against her folds. Gwen clasps her hands in front of her, tries to hide the way she rubs herself with her thumbs through her skirt.

~*~

One night Gwen asks Lancelot to pleasure her as well. He’s gentle, loving, touches Gwen with his tongue in ways she had almost forgotten.

~*~

She wakes to screams, rushes through the door which connects their quarters with Morgana’s chambers. 

Her hair tangles against her sweat-slicked forehead. She thrashes and whimpers in her sleep. The name Emrys tumbles from her mouth. 

“Morgana!” Gwen gently shakes her awake. “It’s okay.”

“Gwen!” Morgana still seems disorientated. But she reaches for Gwen, clings to her, wraps her arms tightly around Gwen’s shoulders and pushes her face into her neck.

“Don’t leave,” she sobs. Gwen feels tears against her skin. “Don’t leave me again.”

“I’m here,” she strokes Morgana’s hair, kisses her forehead. “I won’t leave you.”

~*~

When Morgana has nightmares, Gwen goes to her. Morgana’s lips trail down her neck and breasts. Her kisses are fire against Gwen’s skin but she arches herself desperately into them. 

Lancelot sits on a chair by the window and watches the night.

~*~

“Undress,” Morgana tells her. “Come here.”

Gwen lets her dress fall to the floor and approaches the throne naked.

Morgana draws an arm around Gwen’s waist to pull her down on her knee and press their bodies together to kiss her. Gwen opens her mouth when Morgana probes her lips with her tongue and moans gently when she feels two fingers slip inside her. Morgana’s touch moves inside her, presses deep. 

She pushes her palm against Morgana’s breast, tweaks the firm nipple. Morgana hums in approval, glides her fingers back and forth and Gwen rocks her hips with the movement inside her.

Gwen reaches to Lancelot. Her fingers curl in his hair and he raises himself into her touch. Gwen shudders with such pleasure to think of what he must be doing with his tongue to make Morgana gasp so sharply and press her fingertips against Gwen’s clit.

“I missed you so much,” Gwen’s words come in shuddered whispers.

She speaks to both of them.


	2. Group B (Warnings)

**25. **  
****Title: Anything For You  
 **Option:** Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** Brief violence. Brief suicidal thoughts.

Merlin stiffly walks towards Arthur’s chambers. He feels completely empty. He can still see the light as it slowly drains from Mordred’s clear blue eyes. There’s no coming back from what he’s done. As he grasps the door handle, the only thing he can think is how much he wants to die. 

“I swear Merlin one of these days…” Arthur trails off. “Merlin?”

Merlin is shaking and doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to stop. “Arthur...I tried to kill Mordred.”

Arthur gapes at him.

“I tried to strangle him because I saw a vision that he was going to kill you. I couldn’t go through with it...not even for you.” He swallows thickly. “Everything has been for you. I’ve gone against everything I was supposed to be fighting for. I’ve denied who I am.” Merlin inhales deeply. “Arthur, I-I have magic.”

Arthur’s eyes widen. “Merlin, that’s not possible.”

Merlin’s eyes glow as he lifts a plate next to Arthur with his magic. For the second time that night, Merlin sees the light die in someone’s eyes.

~*~

As the guards push him to kneel down in the Council Chambers, Merlin can’t help but look around and feel a tragic sense of deja vu. Once again Arthur is facing someone he trusts horrible betrayal. 

Arthur walks in and dismisses everyone. He paces in front of Merlin. “Get up.”

Merlin stands up shakily. 

Arthur stops pacing and stalks towards Merlin. “You said that everything you’ve done has been for me?”

Merlin just stares. 

“Speak!” Arthur exhales. “You’ve never been shy with your words before Merlin please don’t be now.”

“Yes, I’ve used my magic for you.”

“Alright, then I need you to show me.” 

Merlin brings his shoulders up in a tired shrug. “I don’t know how to do that.”

“Merlin, you’re a sorcerer. Think of something.” His eyes bore into Merlin’s. “Before I decide anything I need to know. I deserve to know everything. Please, Merlin.”

“I’ll have to touch you.”

Arthur stiffens for a moment before nodding resolutely.

Merlin gently raises his hands and places them at Arthur’s temples. He closes his eyes and chants. He can feel his magic flowing through him. 

Suddenly, Arthur gasps.

It is not an easy thing to summarize ten years of one’s life but Merlin does the best he can. He reaches into the depths of his soul and shows Arthur as much as he can. All of the people he’s lost. All of the people he’s hurt and who have hurt him. But most of all he tries to show Arthur the good. All of the rescues and the laughter and joy he’s shared with the people that matter most to him

When he’s done he opens his eyes. Arthur is shaking he collapses and takes Merlin down with him.

Arthur looks up and his expression runs a gamut of emotions. Sadness, fear, anger, and happiness briefly flit across Arthur’s face. When he finally looks into Merlin’s eyes the only thing he sees left is the same overwhelming love Merlin feels for Arthur. 

Suddenly, Arthur kisses him fiercely. It’s hard and sloppy but Merlin doesn’t care. It’s the most perfect moment of his life and he kisses Arthur back with equal fervor. 

Arthur presses Merlin down with his body. 

Wrapping his legs around Arthur’s waist he brings his crotch tightly against Arthur’s. He moans at the friction it causes. His cock is already straining and he doesn’t think it will take long before he spills over.

Arthur begins to work his hips in slow circles, grinding down against Merlin. He groans into Merlin’s mouth. 

All it takes is one more thrust of Arthur’s hips and Merlin sighs as his trousers fill with his release.

Arthur buries his face in Merlin’s neck and comes with a loud moan.

Merlin feels wetness against his neck. Tears are running down Arthur’s face. “Arthur, what’s wrong?”

Arthur is trembling and his voice is barely above a whisper. “Why?”

It’s not an accusation. It’s just a simple question, but Merlin knows exactly what he means. When he was in his cell he thought about everything he’d done, what he’d almost done to Merlin, and why. “I’ve done some horrible things in my life, Arthur. I can’t say that I’m entirely proud of the man I’ve become. But the one constant thing in my life, besides my magic, is that I am proud to be the man that loves you. Even after everything that’s happened, I know that if it meant protecting you I would do it all again.” He presses a soft kiss to Arthur’s lips. “I’m not going to fight it anymore. You’re my destiny, Arthur and I will protect you and love you until the day I die.”

* * *

**26.**  
 **Option:** Light  & Dark = Strobe Lights  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** Dub-con due to intoxication levels of the people involved.

Merlin could barely make out the items in the room. The steady strobe light dulling his senses and casting everything into harsh shadows. The dance floor was packed and the smell of alcohol and sweaty bodies pressed into him as he tried to sway to the pounding beat. Everything passing before his eyes in still tableaus. Alcohol mixing with the flickering lights, causing the world to tilt around him. 

Looking up he noticed a man staring at him attentively.

The strobe lights seemed to make the stranger look ghostly. Blinding white light taking away his colour and leaving a pale god in front of him. Before blackness engulfed them for a split second and then he was closer. His face completely serious and his eyes only on Merlin. 

His heart beat faster as the man reached forward and grabbed hold of his waist and brought them closer together. The tempo was a steady one and soon enough they were bobbing about, scant inches apart except where the man’s hands were burning holes against his hips. 

Unable to take his eyes away from the man’s handsome face. Merlin was mesmerized by the intensity of his gaze. 

The heat was oppressive and if Merlin could, he would get rid of his shirt, already useless as it stuck to his sweat-drenched skin. He was mere seconds from doing just that when he thought about how it would feel to touch the skin of the man in front of him. 

The lights captured the man overcome with lust in snapshots that facinated Merlin. 

Flash of suprise, as if the man could not believe Merlin would dare touch him. 

Flash of lust, as his eyes seemed almost black against the harsh white strobe light. 

Flash of purpose, as he grinned wickedly. 

It was the only warning Merlin got, before he was spun around and the man’s erection pressed against his ass. His groans were silent as the music drowned them out. The man wrapped around him tightly and there was no mistaking what they were doing for dancing. 

Merlin happily ground against the hard press of cock, as the man cradled his head in the crook of Merlin’s neck. The man pressed open mouth kisses against the sensitive skin and nipped at his ears. It was pleasant, but not what Merlin needed. 

Grabbing the man’s hand that was being useless against his hip, Merlin brought it to the front bulge of his jeans. He could feel the vibrations of the man saying something, but it was lost on Merlin. It was impossible to hear anything over the music. 

Whatever the man said, he wasn’t stopping so it mustn’t have been important. Instead he rubbed Merlin’s denim covered cock fast and brutal. 

It felt like an eternity of endless pleasure as they rubbed against each other. The world blinking in and out of existence. Bodies pressed tightly together and swaying to the beat that drowned out everything else. Merlin had never felt so boneless and turned on. Giving in to temptation, he felt himself about to come. 

Spinning around, he roughly ground their cocks together and grabbed the man in a bruising kiss. It wasn’t until both he and the man silently came in their jeans that Merlin could feel the beginnings of sense return to him. 

Before he knew what was happening the man had grabbed his hand and pulled him out into a harsh light of the bar area. Away from the strobe lights, it was like being returned into reality. 

Suddenly feeling shy, Merlin did not know what to say and the world was still spinning and his tongue felt funny. Just as he started to wonder if the bar served water, the man pulled him forward and kissed him sweetly. 

“Come home with me?” he asked, and damn if he did not look adorable like that. 

“What’s your name?” Merlin blurted out, turning a bright red as he wished there was a way he could take the question back. 

“Arthur,” the man said. “You?”

“Merlin.”

“Well, Merlin, would you like to continue this at my place?”

* * *

**27.**  
 **Option:** Light and Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Freya/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** None

Merlin's shoulders are strong beneath Freya's thighs, and she slides forward from where she sits on his chest, pushing into his chin, his nose, loving the way he feels between her legs.

He licks along her clit, nice and slow, and Freya sucks in a breath. The air in the cottage is heavy with sea salt, and she likes the way it smells, it tastes; she is freshwater, herself, and the ocean is exotic and unutterably ancient when it fills her nose and lungs.

Maybe it's the same for Merlin, beneath her. She's the air he breathes and the taste on his tongue, and he knows her magic like she knows the sea: there is kinship between them, deep and undeniable, but neither their power nor their purpose is the same.

Merlin's fingers dig into her back, pulling her closer still, and Freya's thighs flex as she changes the angle, rising slightly on her knees. He licks again and again, still slow, reverent, his broad tongue building waves of heat within her. Her knees are either side of his head, but looking down, she can't see his face. She's still wearing the new gown he gave her, one he had waiting here at the cottage - Merlin has always loved to give her things, and now that she doesn't need them, Freya finds it easy to accept. The gown is a dark, shimmering purple, the silk cool against her legs, and it pools over his head, covering Merlin completely.

Perhaps that was his wish. Perhaps he wanted, in this, to be her supplicant only, a priest of the Old Religion worshipping the Lady of the Lake.

The darkness beneath her, beneath her dress, must be deep and wet and made of shifting shadows. Are Merlin's eyes open? Does he believe this gives him a glimpse of what it was like, all those years beneath the waves?

Merlin's mouth is talented, his tongue as clever at this as casting spells, and Freya rocks forward without thought, chasing the pressure, gasping as he nudges higher. Merlin's fingers slide down her back, over her curves, and grip her thighs. Over the harshness of her breathing, over the distant crash of the sea, Freya can hear when Merlin's slick strokes change; he presses the flat of his tongue along her clit and holds it there, heavy and steady. Freya holds herself steady too, by sheer will alone, and oh, Merlin's a clever one indeed, because with every passing moment her heartbeat's pounding harder between her legs. She wants him to move, she wants it more and more, but that's the thing about she and Merlin - they have all the time in the world.

The silk of her gown feels amazing on her breasts, shifting with each breath she takes like currents of cool water. Freya palms herself, sliding a hand slowly around a curve, fingertips inching upwards, letting the silk pull and swirl gently over a nipple before she gets there herself. When she finally lets herself touch, she rolls the peak slowly, the silk softer than her fingertips ever could be. It sends a jolt through her, making her grind down onto Merlin's face.

He takes his cue and goes to work, shorter, harder strokes that Freya keeps time with, pinching and rolling. She wonders for a moment what it would feel like for him to lick her through the gown, wet silk slip-sliding along her clit, but she's certainly not going to ask him to stop now, and she also knows it's not what he wants. Freya has the light of the sun on her face, her hands, her chest, coming in warm through the window of this cottage by the sea. Merlin has the darkness, and he has her, and she knows - by the way he's almost bruising her thighs, in part to keep her in place, in part to keep from reaching back to grip his cock - that's what he's looking for.

Soon she’ll be done, soon she'll slide down Merlin’s body and pull him in, and he won't try to roll her over, he'll want her to stay above him. He'll close his eyes and she'll press her elbows to his shoulders, holding him down, her hair curtaining his face, and he'll thrust inside her until he's spent.

Freya's close now, a breath away, the tide swelling deep within her, unstoppable. She loves this moment, perhaps even better than what follows; loves the promise and the certain, sweet inevitability, the knowledge that something bright and glorious awaits.

* * *

**28.**  
 **Option:** Light and Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):**

The sunset’s glow is like dragon’s fire on the horizon, but does it really burn as bright?

Welcome to Camelot

Oh, dear, dear listeners. I have the most amazing thing to tell you! Arthur, perfect, beautiful Arthur, Arthur of the golden locks, bluest eyes, and most impressive manhood I have ever had the good fortune to hold in my hand and to caress the soft, silky flesh as he sought his pleasure -- Oh! A-hem! 

Arthur and I went on another date! He invited my to his lab, where he lead me past all of his bubbling beakers and boiling things and then took my hand in his as we made our way to the back. There, beside a smallish crate that rocked as though it was alive, he cradled my face gently in his large hand and winced as he applied some sort of cream or salve to the burn mark on my face.

“That dragon is a menace,” he said, his voice thick with concern and his beautiful eyes full of worry.

“Uh-huh,” I answered as I leaned into his strong, muscular chest. I drew a sharp breath as his soft, warm lips brushed gently over my burn, unable to contain the whimper of pleasure as he worked his way to my waiting lips.

“Oh, Arthur,” I murmured against his perfect lips as his hand wandered from where it had been resting on my hip around to cup --

A-hem! Well, it appears that Station Management is not happy with my tale of romance and young boys in love so I’ll have to pause for the News.

The King’s Secret Brotherhood would like to remind the citizens of Camelot that all magic has been banned for the foreseeable future. So make sure you repurpose those cauldrons, hide your runestones, and avert your eyes as you cast your spells. Also, the Brotherhood has banned the knowledge of all sorcerers in our fair town. So if you see someone’s eyes turn gold, remember! You saw nothing!

In a press conference that was not held at an undisclosed time and place, the King announced that the shadow that was seen flying over Camelot last night was, in fact, _not_ a dragon. He encourages you to all go back about your business of putting out the fires caused by dragon’s breath and sending the burned and injured to the Apothecary for treatment. He has also declared that anyone not reporting any dragon not-sightings will immediately be throw in the dungeon and flogged to death. 

And that concludes the News!

Now! Back to my date! Arthur had just reached down to cup my blossoming erection in his broad, warm hand; and I had buried my hands in his hair and ground my hips against him. It was glorious, dear listeners! Just glorious! The friction was amazing, and only got better when he pulled down my zipper and worked his hand into my trousers. 

Well! I couldn’t let him do _all_ the work, now could I? So I proceeded to return the favor, wrapping my hand around the glory that was his hard, stiff manhood. The weight of it was exquisite in my hand, and the sounds he made as I squeezed and caressed and drew my hand up and down and up and down -- Oh! It was beautiful to hear. I know my own moans and gasps as he fondled my balls and devoured my mouth in a searing and filthy kiss where a beautiful and harmonious counterpoint.

And then he wrapped his hand around my straining erection and started to jerk and rub and then draw his thumb right below the head of my cock, and oh! It was exquisite torture to feel his hand as it played me so effortlessly. Mmmmmm, the rock of our hips as we climbed our way to climax was almost enough, but! It was so much better when, with a frustrated grunt, Arthur -- dear, perfect, beautiful Arthur -- batted my hand from his manhood and wrapped that large, warm, and amazing hand of his around _both_ of us!

Oh! Oh! Then it was so much better, and it took no time at all for him to rock up onto his toes and --

A-hem. Well. Dear Camelot, I’m afraid I must stop there. I seem to have developed a -- well -- a rather _hard_ problem. So! While I take care of this, I give you...The Weather!

* * *

**29.**  
 **Option:** Light  & Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur Pendragon  
 **Rating:** R/Mature  
 **Warning(s):** Mention of major character death

Caelo Cinereo

He was forever one step behind Arthur, hidden, as he kept his friend safe, treading on his shadow, utterly reliant on Arthur’s life for his own, to gift his existence, and his magic, with purpose and meaning. While Arthur commanded the sun itself, Merlin lived the half-life of a phantom. But they were safe like this, living as one another’s shield.

The few times when Arthur momentarily stepped aside, the light was so blinding that Merlin was glad of his work being shrouded deep within the dark, away from the prying eyes and accusations of the peoples of Camelot and beyond. As the spark that smouldered within Arthur burst into a flame and grew ever brighter, ever more mesmerising, the shadow he cast propagated shadows of its own and the brighter his light the longer, darker and less distinct were the edges between the shades of grey in which Merlin existed. 

But when they were like this, their bodies so entwined they could be one, the stark differences between them seemed so inconsequential; Merlin’s rough clothing littered with Arthur’s finery upon the freezing stone, Arthur’s crown locked away out of sight and mind as barked orders melted away, worlds of magic and steel cast aside as Arthur’s tanned skin pressed so desperately into Merlin’s pale, as the same sweat beading upon their bodies as they rut, as their heads press so close as they kiss that their hair tangles together for a heartbeat, Arthur’s darkening with sweat, before the fearless king buries his face into his lover’s neck, safe and hidden as he draws deep lungful after lungful of ‘Merlin’, hands greedy and frantic. 

As they get closer and closer to the edge, Arthur gasps his love into Merlin’s ear, hips stuttering as he spills, slicking Merlin’s insides with the heat he craves, Merlin bucking up to press his own cock into the blond hairs on Arthur’s belly, the rasp and friction enough to hurtle him into climax and at that moment, as his mind is devoid of thought, as his eyes slide closed and his back arches, as Arthur’s thrusts turn lazy, gentle, just shallow movements to feel the slick possession of his come, Merlin feels he can stand in the light that exudes from his king and not be blinded. He can touch that light and not be burnt. He can stand in the sun at Arthur’s side and see the world that they are creating, a time of peace and prosperity, a land of light and, just for that moment, Merlin can feel the warmth and surety of facing enemies, both within and without, side-by-side with his King, words once whispered in secrecy and darkness, shouted joyously aloud in defence of those he loved.

Rolling to their sides, their heads share one pillow, Arthur uses his feet to retrieve and grapple the covers into arms reach and over their cooling bodies, reluctant to release his lover, hands still roaming cooling skin in the secret gloom beneath the blankets, no longer desperate, instead satiated and lingering as the couple revelled in the intimacy.

So unlike outside this room, or this tent, these stolen moments. Outside the bruises bloom deep upon Merlin’s skin when he’s so focused on Arthur and keeping his secret hidden that he spares no thought for his own wellbeing, the blood smears crimson across Arthur’s jaw and taints the golden blade as those that deny his quest for peace attack his cherished home. Outside, the lines between light and dark are no longer the blunt naivety of youth, when the difference between right and wrong, black and white, were distinct and clear and now the shades of grey obscure the light as blood becomes enemy of blood. Here, in this bed there’s only them, painting the walls the vibrant hues of lust and love, illuminating the chambers with whispered words and muffled promises, dreams of a world half-made but radiant in its beauty 

When Arthur lay among the fallen, so long had he resided there, Merlin had _become_ a shadow, and a shade could not exist without light. Robbed of his shield, Merlin was thrust into the unrelenting, unforgiving glare of the sun , blinded and burning away as he watched his friend, his lover, his King approach the gates of Avalon before simply ceasing to be.  
He waited, hidden as he darted from shadow to shadow across Albion. He would outlast the sun if that was what it took to be Arthur’s shadow once more.

* * *

**30.**  
 **Option:** light &dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Morgana  
 **Warning(s):** none

Her breath hitches in her chest as she sees him enter her room. The glow from the moonlight radiating off the window illuminates the light part of his face—his grin widens as he shifts over to her bedside—a chaste kiss lands softly on her lips. Her body quivers in anticipation, the cold feeling in her heart gripping tightly. His hands caress the soft curves of her thighs, heating up where he leaves his mark.

It is only the icy chill breath that emits from her mouth that show the status of being. Morgana glares angrily at Merlin—a jealous rage surging through her—she craves that heat, the light warming the exposed parts of her skin. She grabs the back of the manservant’s neck, pulling him down in a forceful manner, lips lock, Merlin’s hands slide up the sides of Morgana’s waist—the dripping tendrils of magic surging through her body connect with his fingertips—a false sense of secure longing keeps her from tilting her head back, arching in the gentle ministrations of his elongated fingers—she shakes her head. Her voice comes out in a moaning whisper.

“It isn’t any use, Merlin.”

Always determined to find the sweet spot, Merlin reaffirms his efforts on this ruthless creature. The heat in his magic touch penetrates through all darkness. She is resisting the pull; even though, she is succumbing on her own accord. His eyes search Morgana’s for a sign of hope—none seem forth coming—darkness is peering out at him through the cloudy irises of her eyes.

For another moment, Merlin has no idea what to do. His fingers find themselves wandering down towards Morgana’s nether regions, rubbing along the slit, watching for her reaction as his fingers slip into her folds.

Ever so brief, Morgana’s eyes roll back in her head. It seems she is really starting to enjoy the feeling again. A taste of heat drips against Merlin’s fingers as he plays with Morgana’s clit; Morgana’s mouth open ever so slightly, eyes fluttering closed and dilating—her body is starting to return to normal, she is going to be the young girl she was meant to be—opinionated and waiting for what she never says—always meaning to go where it leads her.

Morgana’s low murmuring startles Merlin. She is staring back at him now, she repeats, “You should have a taste for old time sake.”

With a start, Merlin wakes up in his rather small bedroom in Gaius’ apartment. The dream is still appearing to him. That night he almost had Morgana pull herself from that darkness. Love is something that we all need—his love is easy enough to give—no one can argue that point.

Is that what Kilgarrah really meant though? That love as to hate, we should never meet on equal ground. If it wasn’t for the effort, the love wouldn’t be worth it in the end. Morgana chose her path, and it pains him.

One of the last words he says to her as she rebukes his final attempt, he whispers up into her ear, “If there is a spark of light, you will never be fully dark.”

* * *

**31.**  
 **Option:** Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Uther/Gaius, semi-unrequited; mentioned Uther/Ygraine  
 **Warning(s):** religion

Gaius is allowed a candle in his cell in deference to his age and his position, but he does not often light it. It feels more fitting, somehow, to wrestle with the devil on his shoulder in the dark—with the candle gone, there is no fire closer than the warming room, clear across the abbey, and the clouds hang low in a thick curtain drawn across the moon. 

He is a humble, pious man, claiming no lot in life larger than this quiet corner of the abbey he has dedicated himself to. Once, he might have dreamed larger. Once, Uther had made his spirit move within his breast, and he had thought it love, but those days have long since burnt to ash.

They were chaste in all but the secret spaces of their hearts. They stole no kisses, nothing but moments in time, Uther holding Gaius in his strong arms as they rested against each other in some quiet corner, and the mixing of their breath was more intimate than any carnal kiss. It was enough to indulge in this one thing, these warm embraces with the sunshine heating the wild herbs around them until everything smelt of lavender. 

“You will be abbot,” Gaius had whispered to Uther once—for he would, when the old abbot died—and Uther had smiled, pulling him closer, until the rough wool of their habits rasped together. “Are you pleased?”

“How could I not be pleased?” Uther had asked softly, cupping Gaius's face between his hands. “I shall be abbot, and you shall be my strong right hand, and we shall live in peace, always.”

Gaius wonders, now, if he could have changed anything, had he detected whatever shadow lay between them. It is a fruitless path for thought; he curls around himself in the darkness beneath the blanket of his cot, drawing his hands into fists; still, temptation grows, pricking its teeth into his spine, daring him to betray his vows and the purity of their love. He shuts his eyes, though it makes no difference to the night. 

There had been a woman. It would not have mattered—Uther would not have been the first brother to stray from the narrow path—but she had come to him in fright, with a child growing in her belly, and Uther's love had taken hands with his dangerous sense of duty. He had slipped out in the night between matins and lauds, without a backward glance. 

The world has been colder, since that day; even the summer feels dim to Gaius now. Years later, they heard that the woman had died, that Uther was left to raise his small son alone, but Gaius took no pleasure from that news. He has spent too many nights kneeling on the cold stone of the chapel, prostrate before the altar, desperately seeking to ease the grief that squeezes tight around his heart. It is impossible to blame Uther, and he cannot put the fault on the sweet girl Uther loved, for she had only fallen before the same charms he himself did.

He cannot help but think—if he had woken to find Uther creeping from the abbey—what he might have done to make him stay. It is easy to imagine in the dark, his eyes still shut and his teeth sunk deep into his lip. He would have opened himself to Uther; he would have thrown his vows into the mud and given himself entirely to the pleasures of the flesh, had Uther ever asked it of him. 

His cock is hard between his legs, and Gaius is weak, has always been so. The breath stutters in his chest as he takes himself in hand. Uther would have been beautiful in pleasure, a lover who brought the world crashing down around their bed in blazing glory; he would have demanded ownership in full, and Gaius would have let him take it—would have begged for it, begged for Uther to fill him until his cup cracked from running over. 

The night is empty around him; the only sounds are the catch in his ragged breath and the muffled noises of his hand as he strains closer, closer to the pale imitation which is all the pleasure he may take—the only sin that's left to him.

* * *

**32.**  
 **Option:** Light and Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Hunith/Balinor/Kilguragh  
 **Warning(s):** Non-con elements for everyone involved

Hunith slowly rolled out of bed, muscles still sore in places that were stretched too tight for too long. The memories of the evening before in the setting spring sun made her smile. Smiles were important since not for the first time the bed had been empty. Other women didn't have the same problem. She heard them talking. She knew that their husbands stayed home with them most nights, and the entire night, unless they were at brothels. 

She blinked at the night sky. It was maybe two hours before dawn, when she draped a well worn dressing gown over her skin. Maybe breakfast would bring him home she thought, just as a brilliant red and golden flash lit up the sky to the east. It wasn't the first time she had seen such things and she had even been told to stay away from it, but tonight she wanted to follow her husband into the forest, into the night. She knew he was faithful. He wasn't like the others.

-

"Congratulations Dragon Lord." A deep echoing voice said.

Her husband laughed with almost mocking and Hunith worried for his sanity because there he stood, staring down a dragon. "You know I worry when you give praise of any kind."

The great beast bowed his head with his own near smirking laugh that some how turned deadly serious with his final words. "This night has brought the future of Albion and the Last Dragon Lord."

"What?" Balinor quickly said.

Hunith had no idea what any of it meant, but her husband suddenly looked distressed.

"The mother of Dragons is here, as it was meant to be." The dragon continued.

At this her husband spun around searching the tree line until his eyes met hers. "No." He whispered not even loud enough for her to hear. 

"You knew this day would come Dragon Lord. She, as your chosen mate, is the Mother of Dragons."

Balinor held out his hand to her beckoning her forward into the small clearing. Hunith approached as a dutiful wife and showed no signs of fear. He was a good man that loved her. Nothing bad would happen no matter what monsters stood guard, no matter the unshed tears in her husband's eyes.

Fingers brushed her hair aside and he kissed her temple. "This is Kilgurauh. He's very old, very wise, and soon to be very much captured by the king. It was foretold that a new hope would be born. One of man, magic, dragon, and myth. I didn't realize…I would never have…If I had known our love would put you at risk like this, I would never have married you. I love you." He ghosted his lips in worry across her brow. "And now you must raise the future of Albion."

Her eyes grew heavy. Breathing became harder. She tried to look for Balinor, try to understand his words, but the stars in the night sky began to fade with the rising sun. Her skin tingled with something she never felt before, and then again reminded her so much of her husband's touch. She called out to him and he whispered in her ear about it being over soon. 

The world spun and perhaps she dreamed the trip to the forest because she laid comfortably on her back with her husband's fingers pushing aside the gown, opening her up. Still loose from earlier, his thick length replaced his hand. The smell of ash and brimstone clung to the air. It was Balinor inside her, Balinor loving her, but she also knew that it wasn't. She felt his tears fall to her face. She wanted to comfort him and tell him it was alright. That she trusted him not to do something like this without a reason.

"I don't deserve you, but at least some of it you will forget, at least you will be safe." He brushed her hair aside and kissed her cheek, while the dragon pumped the last of his seed deep in her.

* * *

**33.**  
 **Option:** Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** implied Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** self-harm (for pleasure), mentions of drug use, implied suicide/main character death/snuff

The thing was, if you’d asked Merlin how he thought he would go, passed out in a ditch and overdosed would have been the top of the list (coke had let him go, but magic was his drug), followed closely by old age (like his uncle Gaius), and a freak accident (being best friends with Will and Gwaine). 

Definitely not this. 

But he couldn’t deny the way his body thrummed with the energy as the blood flowed from the shallow cuts all over his body to pool at his feet. He loved the way the red streaked across his pale skin, almost as much as he loved the way the pain enhanced everything around him. 

Or maybe it was the drugs.

Destiny was funny that way sometimes. 

He’d gotten on webcam only an hour ago, after confirming the payment from DragonKnight went through, paying off his mother’s debt and securing her safety for the rest of her life. In exchange for _anything_ (really: everything).

In that hour, he’d gotten naked, just as expected, then prepped himself and slipped on a cockring before stroking himself to hardness. And waiting. 

On his end, DragonKnight was nothing more than an authoritative voice coming at him through the speakers, simple commands, no heavy breathing, no moans or gasps, even as Merlin pulled out all the stops. But DragonKnight was probably just not getting what he needed.

That’s when he upped the ante, when his requests began to make more sense in light of all the money he’d sent Merlin. The knife, the shaving razor, the nails, the needles were all listed with the calmness of a bingo announcer, revealing nothing. But Merlin knew better. 

He knew where this was going. He knew what “anything” meant. 

The first slice across the back of his hand was too shallow, leaving only a red stripe on the skin. 

“Again,” DragonKnight had said, finally betraying a hint of emotion, and it spurred Merlin on, made his cock leak, his body tremble in anticipation as he made one swift movement across his skin. The blood appeared slowly, then spread across his skin as he pulled it apart, tightening his hand into a fist.

“Show me,” had come from the speakers, making Merlin startle out of his reverie, surprised how affected he was. He brought his hand up to the webcam, opening and closing his fist, making the blood spread and trickle down the sides. 

“More,” was all that DragonKnight had said, though Merlin could now hear shuffling, imagined a man much like the hot blond who frequented the coffeeshop where he worked moving, pulling open his trousers, maybe stroking himself, all because of Merlin. 

Merlin lifted up the knife and sliced once, twice more across the back of his forearm, knowing it wasn’t where the big veins were, but loving the way it felt, the sting, the pain. He had to close his eyes, cross his legs, stop himself from humping up into empty air as the pain began to overwhelm him in its complete lack of purpose for Merlin, debasing him down to being an object for DragonKnight. 

He loved it.

With the blood dripping down his arm, Merlin got braver, his next slice coming across his chest, then his abs, one just above his collar bones. He couldn’t help the moan that fell from his lips as his head swam in the pain-pleasure.

Merlin switched to the razor for his other arm, watching the multiple lines appear in a criss-cross pattern. At this point, DragonKnight appeared to love everything Merlin did, quick, quiet _yes_ es coming from him every time Merlin made an especially deep cut. 

When he pierced his nipples with the large sewing needles (a pain so intense Merlin wondered if maybe he’d pass out before it was over), he ordered Merlin to touch himself. Merlin did, but only with one hand, the other still marking his body, wherever he could: just below his pelvic bone, on his thighs; blood loss or arousal making Merlin’s head spin. 

He didn’t stop, he stroked his cock hard and fast, the blood a surprisingly good lube. He moaned and swore, until words, like every cut were irrelevant, blurring into one, into his submission for this stranger, and into the peace of knowing his mother would be okay, into knowing it would end soon. And he was so close. He sliced across his balls and yes, there, _yes_!

When Merlin came, he heard, “Beautiful” through the speakers, and everything went black.

* * *

**34.**  
 **Option:** Light and Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** N/A

Merlin had always had a thing about contrast. He’s not sure why, but he’s always been attracted to things that clash, that highlight each other, that stand out.

He loves the sight of a white gibbous moon against the black of the midnight sky in winter, he loves the dark silhouette of a leafless tree against the pink sky of dusk in autumn.

He likes Gwaine and Elena as a couple more than he likes Gwen and Lancelot – it’s nothing personal, and let’s face it, Gwen and Lance are two of the nicest people Merlin’s ever met. It’s the aesthetics. Gwen and Lance compliment each other perfectly, both dark and beautiful. But the contrast of pale, blonde, clumsy Elena next to dark, rugged, suave Gwaine just does something a bit funny inside Merlin’s trousers.

He and Mordred could never have lasted, he knows it. Yes, he liked the man, and they had a good relationship, but his colouring was just too similar. Everything about him was too similar – he needed contrast.

It’s what first drew Merlin to Arthur. When he saw this golden man across the room (like every cliché), all he could think was how good they’d look together – blonde and brunette, pale and tanned. The more they got to know each other, the more Merlin found ways in which they contrasted – Arthur very much said what he thought, was quick to fight but quicker to forgive, he was very physical with his affection. Merlin was more guarded, wary of falling out but held a hell of a grudge, and blushed every time Arthur grabbed him in a headlock or held his hand in public. Arthur watched The Simpsons and Merlin watched The Thick Of It.

Arthur understood, though, when Merlin explained. (He’d had to, had to explain that he wasn’t watching the way their cocks rubbed together but the way their pubes looked against each other’s.) Merlin had to face it, Arthur didn’t just understand, he was a fucking godsend. 

He lay there naked on their bed and asked what would look better against the golden skin of his wrists: the purple velvet, the white rope, or the silver handcuffs? He bought a black blindfold, knowing that Merlin would love the way it looked against his hair. He even started wearing contrasting clothes. It was soon the case that Merlin could tell when Arthur was mad at him because his clothes matched.

But nothing compared to this. To straddling Arthur’s lap, both naked as the days they were born, with a white candle in one hand and a black candle in the other. As they burnt the wax melted, dropping in beautiful patterns onto Arthur’s chest.

Merlin could barely handle the sensation – the feeling of Arthur added to the sight of such beautiful contrast – white, black, gold. The heat of the wax against Arthur’s cool skin. Alternating scratches and feather-light touches against his thighs as Arthur’s hands explored.

He orgasmed untouched, and it was glorious.

* * *

**35.**  
 **Option:** Light AND dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** None

Smiling smugly Merlin placed the piece on the chessboard and announced,

“Checkmate.”

“Fuck,” Arthur muttered and looked at the board. He shouldn’t have lost, but then Merlin had been forced to strip off his jeans and Arthur had lost whatever concentration he’d had left by that point.

Why in God’s name had Arthur thought playing strip chess was a good idea?

“Well?” Merlin asked. “I thought the winner was actually going to win something?”

Arthur was only wearing his pants and he stripped them off. Despite his current condition of wounded pride he relished the way Merlin looked at him up and down.

“Bedroom then?” Arthur asked.

Merlin looked at him.

“I think not,” he answered. “I think the prize should take place in the same place with the game.”

“Do you mean...?”

Merlin didn’t answer but swept the pieces off the table. For a moment it looked like there were a lot more dark and light coloured pieces on the floor than there had ever been in the game, but then Arthur lost whatever interest he’d had in the pieces, because Merlin cornered him against the table and kissed him.

Merlin wasn’t wearing that many clothes either at that point, but he was not naked. Their deal had been that the winner of the game was going to call the shots that night, and now that Arthur was here he remembered why exactly losing the game was not that bad thing after all. 

Arthur climbed to sit on the table and wrapped his legs around Merlin’s hips. Merlin let his hands wander on his skin and finally they ended up in Arthur’s buttocks.

One of the good things about being in a long-term same-sex relationship was that one didn’t have to worry about things like protection anymore. Arthur couldn’t help but appreciate the way Merlin always seemed to carry lube around somewhere on his person, even though in this case it really shouldn’t have been surprising.

Another thing was that Merlin knew _exactly_ the moment Arthur was ready for his fingers or anything else from the way Arthur moved against him and even from the way he kissed. Merlin pushed the fingers in one by one and gave Arthur just enough time to get used to them before the next one, but not nearly enough for the burn of the stretching to fade. Even though their sex life was still active and healthy, they didn’t do anal too often anymore and anything bigger than a finger or two inside someone’s arse was going to be a rare occurrence. 

Merlin pulled out when Arthur’s hands squeezed his shoulders a bit more tightly than they had a moment before. He asked for permission before finally pushing in, and Arthur gave it gladly.

Maybe it wasn’t the most erotic thing in the world to feel a chessboard pressing against one’s back when a lover was fucking him on their kitchen table, but Arthur didn’t care. It was _their_ domestic life, and it was no one else’s business than theirs where and how they had sex.

Although to be completely honest, most of their acquaintances probably knew that they’d had sex in most rooms of their house anyway.

Arthur came with a shudder with Merlin’s cock inside him and Merlin’s hand on his cock pulling the orgasm out of him. He missed the moment Merlin came in his own post-coital glow, but it didn’t matter as long as they both had enjoyed the round.

“So,” Merlin asked after he had cleaned them both up. “I assume you will want a rematch soon?”

Arthur raised his eyebrows. As if Merlin didn’t know he could never turn down a challenge like that.

“You’re on.”

Playing strip chess had been a fucking fabulous idea.

* * *

**36.**  
 **Title:** Glow  
 **Option:** Light  
 **Pairing:** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warnings:** Nada

Merlin had never looked someone in the eye when he had sex with them. 

He had been accused, rightly so, of being a total top.

Merlin had tried, once with Lancelot, and again with George, to have a relationship. To go on _dates_ but eventually his…refusal to switch things up or even allow his partner to be in a position where they were not on their knees in front of him, clutching the headboard as he fucked their brains out, led to them dumping him. 

Merlin had given up on relationships. Sex was good, and he had excellent friends, so he just pretended that he didn’t fantasise about having someone throw an arm over his waist as they slept and he didn’t look at his friends that were in relationships with a gnawing pit of _want_ in his stomach. 

The first time Merlin had seen Arthur the prat was giving the bartender a stern lecture about something to do with wine or tannins or something. Merlin really didn’t like people who were so fucking rude to waitstaff. The next time Merlin met Arthur it was at Morgana’s birthday party. He hadn’t known Morgana for that long but she insisted he attend her birthday party and it was surprisingly hard to say no to Morgana. Arthur was slightly less of a prat at their second meeting…but not by much. Merlin supposed, after the fourth glass of wine, that the real problem was that Arthur was so fucking gorgeous it was a little distracting. 

Merlin swore he wouldn’t get involved after they had known one another for a while because of all the people in the world Arthur, the stuffy, sweet, prat, would never understand about Merlin. 

That all went out the window when Merlin went and kind of, sort of, maybe just a little, fell in love with Arthur and his weirdly noble behaviour, his odd little front teeth and the utterly snobbish way he lived his life while still being there to help anyone he could. Basically, Merlin was royally fucked. 

It all came to a head on a Wednesday night. Arthur had invited himself over to Merlin’s to watch a movie and halfway between Thor descending from Asgard and…whatever happened at the end of the movie Arthur twisted around and kissed Merlin.

Merlin couldn’t help but respond. Letting his mouth drop open, his tongue sliding out to meet Arthur’s. Arthur smiled against his mouth and then pushed down until Merlin was laid out on his own couch with Arthur settled above him. Then Arthur began to move, his hips settling a deep, rolling rhythm that made Merlin clutch at Arthur and pull his mouth away so that he could suck a dark mark on the other man’s neck. Arthur pressed Merlin more firmly into the couch, his hip bone sliding along the hard length of Merlin’s cock, and then away leaving their erections to slide together. Merlin knew he needed to move them but he also knew he had time – he was an adult and adults simply didn’t come in their pants like teenagers. He should push Arthur away, ask for time. Or, he could push him off, into Merlin’s room, strip him down and go to fucking town on that perfect posh arse. 

Merlin wasn’t expecting it, too lost in the fantasy and the way Arthur was nipping at the skin behind his ear to notice. 

Then he did. 

“No,” Merlin gasped out but it was too late and he felt the rush of heat and sensation that always accompanied his orgasm. He began to _glow_. 

“Fuck,” Arthur said and slumped down onto Merlin. 

Merlin pulled away…or tried to, it didn’t work. Arthur held him in place while Merlin tried to squirm out from underneath him. 

“Merlin,” Arthur panted into his neck. “Did you glow when you came?”

Merlin shoved Arthur off him and scrambled off the couch. Arthur reached out and grabbed his wrist in an iron grip. 

“Let me go,” Merlin tried to sound firm but he sounded shattered. 

“I don’t care if you glow,” Arthur said twisting them around until he could straddle Merlin and hold him in place. 

“What?”

Arthur shrugged. “Morgana tends to float a little when she is really happy. I don’t care if you glow.”

“But…”

Arthur smirked. “How long until you can go again? I want to see if it’s different while I’m buried to the hilt in your arse.”

Merlin was silent…but he would probably be okay with that.

* * *

**37.**  
 **Option:** Light and Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin, Merlin/Mordred  
 **Warning(s):** Rough sex, breathplay, comeplay, angst

The problem is that Merlin has always been a creature of the shadows. He knows he should make a choice, instead of dancing on this knife-edge, but its in his nature. He needs them both, the light and the dark. 

Arthur is where he goes in the dead of night - his secret, a married man, his master, the _king_ \- and Merlin creeps to his bed and is welcomed there in silence, desire burning them both, Arthur rough in his desperation and Merlin ravenous for any sliver of skin, the bitter private taste of Arthur's seed that was never meant to be wasted on him, the thick scent of them together. 

Arthur splits him open with his fingers, keeps his other hand clamped tight over Merlin's mouth because he cannot risk noise, and Merlin pants and writhes with every motion Arthur makes, touching him deep inside where pleasure lurks, sparking like fireflies and catching like a candle's flame until Merlin is afire with it. Arthur thrusts four fingers into Merlin and it burns, he burns, fire and sunlight, wanting this more than anything.

Arthur penetrates Merlin with the curtains of his bed drawn against the candlelight outside, and Merlin's breath coming in wet gulps against the palm of his hand, and he isn't gentle, he takes this as if it were his right (it is, Merlin has always been his to take and own and use, in law and in Merlin's heart). The blunt, wet head of Arthur's cock bumps against the tender skin where he's pushed his fingers in and out until Merlin is stretched and chafed and raw and ready, and then he humps forward and catches against Merlin's hole, and starts inwards.

Arthur keeps pushing and Merlin whines, stifled, and tries to screw himself back, to take this faster, but Arthur holds him hard at the hip and the jaw and will not be rushed. He takes his pleasure how he prefers it and how he knows Merlin needs it, deep down, all slow and hard and inexorable like Fate. 

Merlin's climax comes to him blinding sudden and bright fire white. Arthur spends not a moment later, while Merlin is still shuddering through the sensation and it multiplies, heat-wet-fullness, completion, falling and burning, like flying too close to the sun. 

Merlin cleans them up and accepts Arthur's soft kiss to his temple but he is already feeling guilt for this, for succumbing to the darkness of this love that consumes him.

By contrast, Mordred comes to Merlin in the mornings, when white-pink dawn light is slipping through the shutters, and he is sweet and Merlin lets him in under the coverlet and makes noises for him when he runs his sword-calloused fingers over Merlin's skin, and there's no feeling to it at all except maybe that which Mordred might harbour, deep inside his blackened soul. 

Mordred fucks Merlin face to face in the mornings, smiles at him and listens and does what Merlin begs him for - faster or slower, harder or softer, and Merlin will suck on Mordred's fingers and touch himself until he comes sticky wet on his own belly. Mordred scoops it up and feeds it back to Merlin and comes to the feel of Merlin's tongue curling gentle against his palm, like a kiss, with a smile and their golden eyes mirroring each other, kindred.

Merlin wishes he could love Mordred. He wishes he could trust him, even. But he can't. This light in Mordred surely won't last. Merlin is only trying to eke it out as long as he can, bind Mordred to him this way and put off the bloody future he's seen, pit light against dark and hope he can wrestle victory out of it. Because it is wrong to love Arthur, though it is legal to serve him in the bedchambers if he wants it. It is wrong to have Mordred like a lover despite not loving him. Somewhere in the middle of all the dark means, though, Merlin hopes he can find enough good ends to make it worth it, and if he has to live in the shadows all his life, he will do so gladly.

* * *

**38.**  
 **Option:** Dark  & light  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** school-aged Arthur and Merlin, unprotected oral sex

Merlin's heart pounded in his chest as he waited in the darkness of the closet. He should never have let himself be shoved in there in the first place. The beer Gwaine copiously poured had clearly dulled his reflexes; he'd failed to heed the alarm bells that went off the moment Morgana suggested seven minutes in heaven'.

‘Please don't let it be Arthur’, Merlin repeated this silent mantra as he waited for the door of the cupboard to open. He could deal if it were Freya, a shy kiss on the lips, easy to brush away in the intimate friendship they already shared. Or Gwen, they would probably burst into giggles, as Gwen had told Merlin all about her crush on the new kid, Lance. But remembering the look Morgana had given him before shutting the door, knowing and devious, it wasn't going to be anyone safe. 

As he was being pushed inside, Merlin recognized Arthur’s shape before darkness enveloped them both.

"Umpf," Merlin let out as Arthur, who had fallen right on top of him, squished him. Muttering a quick 'sorry', Arthur tried to disentangle himself from Merlin, elbowing him in the ribs. Merlin whimpered and Arthur's movements stilled. Instead of scooting to the far end of the cupboard, where he could hide, between the weird smelling cleaning products and brushes, he heard Arthur move in the dark as if he was looking for something. Hands touching his shoulder and neck, Arthur seemed to have found what he'd been looking for, curling his fingers into Merlin's hair. He wanted to ask what Arthur was doing, but his friend's mouth was on his and all the air was sucked right out of his lungs. 

Kissing Arthur was as good as he'd imagined. Even better. Arthur’s scent both familiar and intoxicating filled his nostrils every time his lungs demanded air. It was perfect. 

Merlin wrapped close around his friend, their bodies now fully aligned. Merlin could feel Arthur's erection dig into his hip before he could worry about his own being noticed. But Arthur _had_ noticed because he started grinding them together, their denim-covered cocks creating a delicious friction that, even though it was the best thing Merlin had ever experienced, quickly wasn't enough. 

It was Arthur who boldly worked open the button and zip to Merlin’s jeans, pulling out Merlin’s cock, his own trousers following swift. It hit Merlin that this was really happening. Every filthy story Gwaine had told them about this stupid game, bragging about girls blowing him making Arthur had blush, clearly aroused. This _was_ happening and Merlin was going to give him the best fucking seven minutes of his life now the he got the chance.

Arthur felt or tasted nothing like the popsicle he'd tried this on. But it wasn't too hard to anticipate what would make Arthur feel good, where he would be sensitive (no teeth, he got that memo) and when it would be too much for himself to take in (gag reflex was not something to be ignored). 

He must have been doing it right to at least some extent. Though he couldn’t see his face, Arthur was muttering things under his breath like "Merlin!," and "God, Merlin!".

He hadn't really thought about swallowing, but when Arthur came inside Merlin's mouth, there wasn't a choice to make. This was Gwen's house and she was a nice person and there was no need to spit it out onto the floor. 

"Did you... Oh..."Arthur muttered, he fell back. 

Merlin considered it a victory, rendering Arthur incoherent. He got his reward when Arthur regained his senses and put his bare hands on Merlin's cock. He didn't last long. 

Panting, Arthur pulled away afterwards. Hearing rustling sounds, the clink of a belt, Merlin knew Arthur was getting dressed again. 

Outside, Morgana started the countdown. Ten seconds left, nine, eight, seven...

Hands shaking, Merlin hurriedly tucked his now flaccid cock back into his boxers, zipping up his jeans and running a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to smooth it. 

When the door opened and Merlin was blinded by the sudden brightness, it felt like a cold shower. Back to reality. Back to pretending he wasn't gay and in love with his best friend. 

But before he could make out the curious gazes of Morgana and the rest of their friends, someone pounced him; Arthur; pulling him into a wild embrace, kissing him, all tongue and teeth. When Merlin dared open his eyes, he looked up into his smiling face.

* * *

**39.**  
 **Option:** Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Morgana  
 **Warning(s):** mild reference to violence

Merlin doesn't move as Morgana circles him like an animal. He thinks she means to be threatening, but it makes him think of something untamed and skittish. He waits, and she brings him to his knees at last, one hand in his hair.

"What do you have for me, Merlin?" Morgana asks, bending his head up to her.

"Information," he says.

"Good."

He lets her bear him down, her skirts pooling around them. His fingers dig gouges into the dirt as Morgana opens his tunic. Her eyes are cold on his chest, as if she can look right into his heart. She looks hungry.

Reluctantly, Merlin tells her. The kingdom is in crisis - drought, famine, threats from within and without...

"I know all of this," Morgana says, drawing patterns over his skin.

He swallows, dry-mouthed. "What-"

"You're useless," she says, pinching his nipple hard, digging in with her nail. "I need to know when Arthur plans to strike."

"Strike?" Merlin gasps.

"When he will come for me. I'm sure you've told him where I live." She stares at him like a snake.

"No, my lady." He hasn't. "I am yours."

Morgana pets him now, his trembling stomach vulnerable before her. She has a dagger, he knows, that could slice him open if she wished. But instead she leans down and kisses him, warm and wet, and he remembers that she is a girl, too. She sucks his bottom lip and Merlin lets his hands travel up to her waist, following the way her hips circle, grinding herself down against him.

"I believe you, I don't know why," Morgana says, pressing their foreheads together as she rocks. "I know you were loyal to Arthur before, but even you must see what he is now, how he puts his own fear and hate before the well-being of his people."

"He is blind," Merlin agrees. "He can't see - ah! What's right in front of him."

Morgana sits back suddenly and Merlin wonders if he said something wrong, but she is undoing his laces. Her hands are calloused. Perhaps she has taken up sword practice out here in the woods. He tries to think of a question, something innocent, but all his attention is on Morgana working him with long strokes, and the fluid collecting at his slit, and then she licks the head, licks that bead of moisture and he's not thinking at all.

"Please," Merlin begs. He needs something to take back with him.

"Oh, you sweet boy," Morgana says when she has him, all of him, in her cunt. 

Merlin jerks his hips up, desperate, and Morgana presses him back down, her face intent, her hair swinging wild and dark between them.

"Yes! Be strong for me. I want to feel it tomorrow."

It's a war and Merlin is using all his strength, fighting back against gravity and her control. He thinks about turning them over, pressing Morgana back in the dirt, rearing over her, fucking her, killing her. But he won't.

She rakes his chest with sharp nails and his breath punches out of him, and he comes explosively, thrusting up, up, helplessly into the tight clench.

Morgana keeps riding him until he's pushing her away and she laughs, guiding his hand down to slick through her wetness and his come leaking between her thighs.

"Did you...?" Merlin asks.

"No," Morgana says, "It doesn't matter." She curls up and leans her head on his chest, and Merlin wraps his arms around her, feeling their hearts beating together. The air is thrumming with their magic.

"You're the only one I have left," Morgana whispers.

###

"So?" Arthur asks. It's morning, too early for Arthur to already be dressed and scowling when Merlin comes in.

"Nothing of import."

"Nothing... of import? Did you find out _anything_?"

"She's beaten down, sire. None of her plans have worked, she's alone, living in a hovel, probably cold and hungry most of the time."

"Or that's what she wants us to think."

Arthur paces, hands fisted, back tight with tension. Merlin rolls his eyes. Arthur catches him.

Arthur yanks him forward by his neckerchief and Merlin chokes, then holds his breath when he realises how close they are. Arthur's eyes are stormy blue.

"Merlin," he says. "This is dangerous."

"I know."

"Be careful of her." Arthur releases him and Merlin sighs, relieved. Disappointed.

"Morgana can't do anything to me," Merlin says.

And that. That's the lie.

* * *

**40.**  
 **Option:** Light and Dark (literal)  
 **Pairing:** Merlin/Arthur

**Black Light Virgin**

The dance floor’s packed, a blur of colour around Arthur. His last drink is just starting to make his skin tingle when he’s smacked across the back of his head.

He spins, fist already pulled back -- even though Morgana would flay him for starting a fight in her club on a Friday night. Behind him is a kid (barely legal from the look of him) with flailing limbs and a long, lanky body that moves fluid and reckless in the crowd, laughter shaking him entirely as he tries to prove he’s got the moves like Jagger.

Arthur lowers his fist and snorts at what this ridiculous kid’s wearing -- across the back of his shirt is handwritten: _VIRGIN, please help!!!_ The hundreds of black lights mounted throughout the club make the letters glow like a motel advertising a vacancy. The kid looks over his shoulder at Arthur; with those cheekbones, he’s not going to be lonely for long.

Ignoring the twist of temptation in the pit of his belly, Arthur heads towards the bar. He’s not on the pull tonight.

He’s just dropping some bills for his next gin and tonic when he feels the heat of someone at his elbow.

“Hello!” The kid’s bright blue eyes are overwhelming and Arthur takes a step back. He can see the kid’s t-shirt has the star-spangled shield of some comic hero on the front. He wonders if the message scribbled on the back makes it ironic.

Arthur doesn’t get the joke, if there is one. “Nice shirt,” he says anyway.

“Gwaine gave it to me for my birthday!” The words are slurred. He waves a pink novelty cup in front of Arthur’s face that reads: _it’s my birthday, buy me a drink._

“You’re pretty demanding about your birthday presents, aren’t you?”

The kid shoots him a cheeky grin. He’s turned to the side and Arthur can just make out the _help!!!_ curving along his waist. “You offering?”

A sharp, surprised laugh escapes Arthur’s throat. “Does that actually work?”

“Not yet. I’m Merlin, by the way.” He shakes his pink cup again. “I was hoping you’d be the first.”

It’s so blatant a proposition, Arthur finds himself choking on his own spit. Damn, the boy was tempting. _You never let yourself have anything nice_ , Morgana’s always saying. “Fuck it.” Arthur grabs Merlin’s wrist, drags him down a dark hallway and through a door marked _Employees Only_. “In here.”

“Wha--” Merlin’s eyes are wide, but he lets himself be manhandled without complaint.

“It’s fine. I know the owner. No one will bother us.”

“What?” 

“It’ll be fine,” Arthur mutters, already undoing his belt. 

Merlin blinks. “Um.” Merlin’s eyes flicker to his empty cup as though he regrets not getting his refill.

“Top or bottom?”

“Jesus.”

He smirks. “Nope. Ar--th--ur.” His pants and trousers are already pushed down his thighs and he tugs at Merlin’s shirt. In the normal lighting of the supply cupboard, the words at the back have completely disappeared.

“Are you taking the piss?”

“Just a blowie, then?”

“Yeah. God, yeah, okay.” Merlin starts to tug on his belt; Arthur takes that as a cue to grab a towel off the shelf (whatever, Morgana will never know) and place it on the floor by Merlin’s feet. “This is the strangest moment of my life.”

“Yeah.” It’s Arthur’s too, but then again, he’s never met anyone whose smiles make his blood surge like this kid’s.

Merlin’s got a beautiful cock to go with his beautiful _everything_. How he’s still a virgin is frankly unfathomable. He moans like a pornstar as Arthur opens wide and lets Merlin fuck into his mouth. “Oh, God. This is so much better than a drink.”

Arthur would ask what he means but his mouth is full and he’s already found a great rhythm fisting his cock in time with Merlin’s thrusts. He’s seconds away from spilling his load on the dirty cement floor.

They come -- Merlin down Arthur’s throat and Arthur onto Merlin’s shoelaces -- just as someone begins to jiggle the door handle. 

“Occupied!” Arthur shouts, voice raspy. Merlin giggles, tucking his softening dick away. They dress in a rush and Merlin’s got his shirt backwards. They stumble from cupboard flushed and laughing until Merlin freezes. 

His eyes bulge as he looks down at the glowing message across his chest. And second later, he takes off in a run, shouting, “Gwaine, you’re dead!”

* * *

**41.**  
 **Option:** Light and dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Nimueh/Igraine  
 **Warning(s):** Character death, probably pregnancy related triggers

 

Nimueh met Igraine for the first time six weeks after the earth shattered.

“My wife,” said Uther. “Igraine.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Igraine said sweetly as she shook Nimueh’s hand. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Nimueh had heard of Igraine, too – Uther’s wife who he had bought onto the ship. Avalon was supposed to be for scientists and doctors and historians and people who would be useful in the future. And then there was Igraine Pendragon, opera singer.

She had also heard that Igraine was beautiful. She’d seen her in pictures a few times and believed it, but in person she was stunning. The smile she gave Nimueh lit up her whole face.

“A pleasure,” Nimueh echoed.

*

Of course, Uther had a justification. _Breeding_. He was determined that he and Igraine would have the first child of the stars.

“And your blood pressure’s normal,” said Nimueh, finishing their first physical. 

“Can you print the results out for Uther?” Igraine was still perched on the examination table, somehow still painfully gorgeous in a loose-fitting hospital gown. “God. He’s been bothering me about this all week.”

“Of course,” said Nimueh crisply.

*

Her determination to keep their relationship entirely professional lasted maybe a week.

“You know,” said Igraine as they sat huddled at the table in Nimueh’s room, sharing semi-illicit drinks, “He never even talked about having kids until the world was ending. That’s fucked up, isn’t it? That’s fucked up.”

Illicit because alcohol wasn’t allowed on the Avalon and even if it was Uther wouldn’t want his soon-to-be pregnant wife drinking and he certainly wouldn’t want her drinking with Nimueh.

“I don’t know,” said Nimueh. “There’s worse reasons to want kids than the end of the world.”

“I went to the nursery the other day,” said Igraine. “Just to see what I was in for, you know? And all the kids there were just ghastly.” She glanced at Nimueh’s window and shuddered. “God, how can you stand it?”

The window was a smooth square of darkness, scattered with stars. Nimueh shrugged. “I requested a room with a view,” she said. “I don’t want to forget where I am.”

“I do,” said Igraine.

*

Four months into the Avalon’s voyage into the unknown Igraine still wasn’t pregnant. And she had taken up smoking.

The tip of their shared cigarette glowed in the darkness of the common room. It was night-cycle.

“He wants you to check my fertility again,” said Igraine. “Give me a full examination.”

“I can do that,” said Nimueh.

*

They fucked squeezed together in Nimueh’s tiny quarters. They fucked up against the window, with only inches of reinforced glass between them and the void.

Igraine’s skirt was hitched up around her waist. Her eyes were pressed closed. Her back was pressed against the glass and Nimueh’s fingers were pressed between her legs.

She had two fingers up Igraine’s cunt and a thumb pushed against her clit, rubbing her roughly, drawing harsh, choked gasps out of her. 

“You’re wasted on him,” said Nimueh, her own breath coming in pants. She shoved a third finger in and Igraine was so wet it went easy.

“I know,” said Igraine. And then she came, head falling back against the window. 

Nimueh kissed her neck there, and there, fleeting open-mouthed kisses, and then her mouth. Igraine caught her and held her, tongue dipping in.

“I hate him,” said Igraine. “I hate him for making me hate him.” Her head lolled back, tilting so she could look out at the stars.

*

Avalon was suffocating, claustrophobic, rule-bound. The darkness of spaced pressed in around Nimueh. She regretted asking for a window. The longing for earth was a physical ache in her chest, in her stomach, in her throat. When she closed her eyes she could still see the bright flare of its destruction, burned onto her eyelids.

As weeks dragged into months, Igraine was the only light left in Nimueh’s life. And then she was snuffed out.

*

It took a little over a year for Igraine to get knocked up.

A little before the second anniversary of the earth’s death she went into labour and Nimueh found herself standing outside the intensive care unit, staring down Uther Pendragon.

“I don’t care what it takes,” he said, with ice in his gaze, “you save my son.”

The first child of the stars was pink and squalling and perfect. In the hospital bed, Igraine breathed her last.

In her room, Nimueh stared out into the darkness of space.

* * *

**42.**  
 **Option:** Dark!fic with a light motif  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** Non-con, possible character death

Arthur lay on his bed, wrists and ankles bound to the bedposts.

He waited.

***

When the sorcerers came, Arthur had no fear left in him. Uther had been dead six months; what was left of his kingdom lay in ruins around his defeated son. 

The walls of the citadel still stood, and Arthur stood upon them to watch as the conquering army--sorcerers, Druids, ungrateful peasants--wound up the hill and through the broken gates. It hadn’t even been much of a fight, in the end.

Three of them road at the head of the procession, side by side: Morgause. Morgana. Merlin. The two sisters laughed together as though returning from a summer picnic. As they passed under the wall, they did not even look up, as though Arthur were nothing more than a curious child peering down at his sovereign queens.

The third horse paused. Merlin looked up, and when their eyes met, he could see that Merlin’s still burned with the gold light that never dimmed in any of them, not anymore. But then he smiled, that sweet, familiar smile, and the cold knot unraveled in Arthur’s gut, leaving him lightheaded.

It was over. Now he left his fate in the hands of the one sorcerer he had ever trusted.

 

***

The room was dark when the door opened, but after so many years of seeing Merlin’s shape skulking through his chambers at all hours, he could hardly mistake it.

“Merlin.” His own voice grated in his ears as the lock turned from the outside. 

“I’m glad you’re awake,” Merlin said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry our council ran so long, but there was quite the debate about what to do with you.”

“I can imagine.” Without thinking, Arthur tried to sit up until the ropes caught him. “So what’s the verdict? Can these come off?”

“Oh, yes.” Merlin’s hand found Arthur’s thigh. “Eventually.”

Arthur relaxed. Even with the gold light obscuring Merlin’s eyes, he could see the reassuring mischief in his smile. “Enjoying having me at your mercy, are you?”

“It’s a pleasant sight, I admit.” Merlin stood up and climbed between Arthur’s legs, which were suddenly unbound. He was also suddenly naked from the waist down. 

Merlin opened his breeches and took out his own thick erection. “I wish we had more time to talk, but it seems cruel to make you wait.”

 

Arthur smiled for the first time in weeks. “Yes. It’s been a long time.”

Instead of a reply, Arthur heard the deep tones of a spell. Instantly he felt the magic sweep through him. Heat surged in his groin, but did not stop there; it kept climbing up through his gut and into his chest as through wrapping around him from the inside. 

A peculiar sensation, but he forgot it when Merlin’s cockhead pressed into his arse. “Does it feel good?” Merlin asked.

“You know it does.” Arthur groaned as Merlin pushed his cock the rest of the way in. “At least I’m finally getting some benefit from your magic.”

“Oh, yes.” Merlin pulled back, then pushed in again with a laugh. “Morgana and Morgause really wanted to burn you at the stake. It took a while to persuade them to do it my way.”

Every thrust was increasing Arthur’s arousal and distraction. “Do what?” 

“Execute you, of course.” 

Arthur gasped. “What?“

“I developed the spell just for you. You’ll feel so good, right up to the end. I promise.” 

“But I’ll die?” Arthur thrashed against his bonds, enraged.

“When you come.” Merlin moved his hips again and Arthur’s cock throbbed. “Which the spell will make sure you do.”

Merlin kept on fucking him, killing him; no matter how Arthur fought against it, the pulse between his legs only grew more alluring. His chest heaved with a bitter laugh. “I suppose I never really thought they’d let me live.”

“If it’s any comfort, I don’t think they’ll let me outlive you for very long.”

He was nearly to the tipping point now. If he could last a moment longer, maybe Merlin would snap out of this magical insanity, flee with Arthur far from these horrors.

“It’s all right, Arthur.” Merlin rolled his hips to stoke Arthur’s pleasure. “Don’t fight it. It’s time.”

As if the words themselves triggered it, Arthur’s balls clenched with the onset of orgasm. He sobbed again from the blinding ecstasy. “I’m sorry,” he choked. “For everything.”

As the pulses went through him, the magic tightened around his pounding heart. Merlin kept rocking into him, tenderly. His heartbeat slowed until it became sluggish. His body relaxed as though slipping into a post-coital nap.

He took a final breath just as Merlin stopped thrusting. “Arthur?” 

Arthur’s eyes fluttered open one last time. Merlin looked down at him, confused and stricken. The light was gone. His eyes were clear and blue.

* * *

**43.**  
 **Option:** Dark and Light  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** none

It was a rare case of unlucky, Arthur thinks. He didn’t want this. No one would want something like this to happen to them. A losing battle to begin with, and he blames his non-existent mother’s genes, out of spite. 

-There’s always a chance of recovery-

He had scoffed at that. Nothing the doctors say was ever true. All they do is give false hope to critical cases like him just so he would fight harder. There was no use fighting, the only thing he wants is to know. 

To know how much time he has, because not knowing when, that’s what’s killing him. Not knowing when he’d wake up to complete darkness. It terrifies him.

Day by day, his vision would get worse; the only thing that helps him cope isn’t the meds, but the lenses the doctors keep giving him every week; each week with a stronger focal point.

Arthur becomes greedy. He needs to see everything he can have his eyes on, trying desperately to store them in his long term memory. In a few months, weeks even, he’d no longer be able to tell red from blue, and he needs to know. He needs to remember.

Sometimes he’d get headaches from focusing too much on his weak eyes, and he’d end up lying face flat on the sofa, with Merlin’s fingers massaging his temples and Merlin’s berating lulling him to sleep. Those would be the times when he’d wake up the next couple of hours, to a blinding smile, bright blue eyes and sharp cheekbones, and he’d reach up to pull Merlin down into a kiss.

That’s what scares him the most. Arthur doesn’t want to forget how Merlin looks like; he doesn’t want to give up the mornings waking up to Merlin snoring lightly beside him; the nights he spends just watching Merlin mull over his articles; the way he’d scratch his belly when he’s tired; his messy hair, his eyes, his smiles, his frowns, his dimples, his long limbs, his everything. That’s something Arthur isn’t ready to let go of, ever.

The next morning Arthur wakes up to nothing but pitch black darkness. He keeps muttering ‘no, no, no’ even when he’s choking with his own tears he could barely speak, and grabs onto Merlin, who holds him tight the entire time.

He spends the next two days moping, saying hurtful words and generally being a dick to Merlin.

Merlin is patient, in a way only Merlin can be. He doesn’t spend every waking hour pandering to Arthur, he doesn’t coo him, doesn’t make stupid promises, doesn’t tell him everything’s fine because it’s obviously not, and most of all he doesn’t take Arthur’s shit attitude. Instead, he drags Arthur out of bed after giving him exactly two days to wallow in self pity, bathes him, and patters around their flat getting Arthur to get used to the surrounding, so that at least at home he doesn’t have to use his cane. He gets Arthur to get used to his newly acquired blindness.

Turns out it isn’t as bad as Arthur thought it would be. Sure he has to read Braille from now on and walk with a cane, but he isn’t always blind. He can still see Merlin’s smile; the way his eyes turn to small slits and how his dimples deepen. He can see Merlin rolling his eyes at his stupid jokes, or at his general idiocy. He can see Merlin’s frown whenever he has one of his meltdowns. 

In fact, Arthur can still see how Merlin is looking right at that moment; head thrown back, his face completely flushed red, brows brought together in a slight frown, his lips parted in rushed out breaths, fingers curled against his bare chest, the sheen of sweat covering his entire body as he rides Arthur. Or the way Merlin grips the headboard as he drives harder and faster into him, hitting his sweet spot every time. The way Merlin wails out his name drives him mad and he comes at the sight of Merlin coming; back arched high off the mattress, eyes rolled back, and his pleasure stricken face. 

Arthur might be physically blind, but he’s never blind when it comes to Merlin.

* * *

**44.**  
 **Option:** Light and Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/ Cenred, Merlin/ Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** Non- Con, Blackmail

Merlin was a fucking savant at his job. No really. He was like Radar from MASH only younger, better looking and kinkier. If his boss needed something Merlin would have it on his desk yesterday, even if he had to time travel to do it. The single problem with being so adept, however, was that everyone seemed to forget you existed.

Seriously.

Merlin had been working as Cenred Kings PA for over two years and he was fairly certain the man didn’t even know his name let alone notice that Merlin had been throwing himself at his boss for the better part of a year. It seemed to him that if he were enshrouded in any more darkness he’d be Batman, and Merlin wasn’t quite ready for that responsibility.

Everything changed when he met Arthur.

It wasn’t exactly an auspicious start when Arthur ran right into Merlin while he was carrying a tray of hot coffees. Nothing about that meeting endeared Arthur to Merlin. Funnily enough, Merlin’s cussing him out had the exact opposite effect on Arthur.

One apology drink, three dates and lots of kinky sex later and Merlin suddenly found himself in love and entirely visible to everyone as one half of a modern Romeo and Juliet tale. It wasn’t every day that an employee of King Limited and Pendragon Corps started dating. It seemed even less likely that Arthur Pendragon himself would be involved in such a situation and yet he was.

Even with this new found fame, Merlin couldn’t have prepared himself for the reaction of his boss.

Every day Cenred flirted with Merlin, touching him with some form of intent, until one day Merlin walked in to his office to find him watching porn, an unmistakable bulge in his trousers very much present.

Only it wasn’t just any porn. It was one Merlin and Arthurs ‘home movies’.

“Ahh Merlin,” Cenred leered reaching forward to grab his wrists, dragging him closer, “Just who I wanted to see!”

Merlin stood in shock as his boss propositioned him, not really grasping the conversation.

“--You see Merlin,” Cenred said with an infuriating smile, “You have a choice. You can let me fuck you right here, like the good little bitch you are, or I can show the whole world your little sex tape with Pendragon Junior. How do you think Uther will take it, I wonder?” Cenred smirked at him before looking him up and down. “Either way Merlin, you’re going to get screwed, so you might as well take the fun option.”

“Yes. Fine. I get it.” Merlin snapped, feeling trapped and encaged. He wished for a little of the darkness now and the anonymity it brought him.

Cenred released his grip on Merlins wrists and leaned back slowly into his executive chair, one hand rubbing at the burgeoning erection in his pants. “I think you know what your next job is,” he leered, staring unsubtly at Merlins lips.

Merlin snorted in derision as he placed himself between Cenred legs and fell gracefully to his knees. “I hope you know that when Arthur finds out that you’re blackmailing me, he might just kill you with his bare hands,” he concluded, hands playing with the zipper on Cenreds trousers, prolonging the inevitable for as long as possible.

“Oh Merlin,” Cenred jeered as he waved Merlins hands away from his body and undid his trousers, releasing his long uncut dick from its confinement. “This isn’t blackmail,” He continued as he gripped himself and leant forward to trace the curve of Merlins gorgeous cock-sucking lips with his dick, “This is a negotiation.”

Merlin rolled his eyes in scorn as he opened his mouth to Cenreds erection, lapping at his foreskin before bobbing his head to swallow him down, inch by inch. Above him his boss groaned from either the satisfaction of his victorious plan or the pleasure of Merlins mouth; Merlin was unsure which. He corkscrewed himself onto Cenreds erection further. If he was going to do this he was going to do it well. He would show his boss what he had missed during all those years he had ignored him and what he would never have again now that Merlin no longer lived in the dark and was instead adorned in the light of Arthur.

Cenreds hands twisted into Merlins hair as they forced Merlin to move his head faster, meeting Cenred thrust for thrust until he abruptly pulled off and came all over Merlins face.

* * *

 **45.**  
 **Option:** Light and Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** No warnings. 'Lost Girl' Fusion.

Merlin looked at the CCTV and then at the dead body at his feet. "Fuck!" He held the wound on his side and listened to Gwaine shouting.

"Fuck, what was that? Did it bite you? Christ, fucking fae. Light or dark, you suppose?"

"Either. Both hate me."

"You know who we have to call to clean this up."

"No. Call Lance. Not Arthur. He doesn't want..." His vision blurred and he stumbled forward. "...me"

"Whoa, mate." Gwaine held him. "You need help."

"No Arthur. Promise..."

Merlin didn't know how he got to his bed or how long he'd been there before he awoke, feeling feverish. He groaned and heard a soft growl. Next to him was a wolf, licking his wound.

 _'Fucking Gwaine'_ , he thought, brushing his fingers, the only movement he had the strength for, along the soft, golden fur, until he fell back asleep.

"Merlin. Wake up. That's it." Merlin came to, finding Arthur's face hovering above his. "You'll be alright, but you need a little bit of this." Arthur parted his lips and touched them to Merlin's. Merlin breathed in the sweet elixir of Arthur's lust. It lit his insides up, like he'd been plugged into an electrical outlet. He moaned, his cock going hard, and grabbed Arthur tight, rutting against him.

"Alright. That's enough," Arthur said, pushing him down by the shoulders, separating them. "You're healed enough."

Merlin rolled away and swung around, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Why are you here? I told Gwaine not to call you."

Arthur got out of bed. "Sorry you got stuck with me. Lance is working a case. It would look suspicious if he left to clean up another one of your messes."

"Forgive me, Detective Inspector Pendragon, for bothering you to do your damn job."

"My job is to make sure humans don't find out about us and to protect the light fae - which you are not - from the dark fae."

"I'm tired of having this argument. I'm not picking a side. Not ever. I'm not light or dark. I'm me. I'm not going to let anyone own me."

Arthur growled, the wolf taking over his face. "No one owns me. Protecting the light, isn't the same as -"

"Right. The Ash doesn't order you around?"

"He's our leader!"

Merlin snorted. "And your father. And that has nothing to do with why you left me."

"It doesn't. And I didn't leave you, I -"

"I don't want to fight. Just... who attacked me?"

"Werewolf. Probably random. Daft bastards can't resist the smell of an Incubus."

"Christ. I'm a werewolf now?"

"A silly human legend. Though their bite is difficult to heal, my wolf salvia's more powerful." 

Merlin looked at spot where the wound had healed. "Thanks."

Arthur sat next to Merlin, looking concerned. "You're stronger. Gwaine said you killed him in seconds. Has Gaius figured out where your magic comes from?"

"No."

"Well... you're feeling okay now?"

"Yeah."

"I'll go then." But Arthur lingered for a second longer than he needed to and Merlin looked at him, wanting him so much, not needing him to feed - wanting him. Maybe Arthur knew it because of his wolf senses, because he didn't hesitate and had him pinned to the bed, kissing and biting his neck.

"I thought you didn't want me," Merlin said.

Arthur removed his clothes and what little clothes Merlin had on. "I always want you. That's the problem."

Merlin reached down and wrapped his hand around Arthur's knot, breathing in the surge of sexual energy that radiated from him. "Then why won't you give me this."

"You don't understand. Wolves mate for life."

"I know. You told me -"

"For _life_. We only get one. Once I tie with you, I'll never love anyone else. If you find out things about your past and leave or join the dark fae..."

"Oh."

"Yeah - oh. That's why I have to be certain." He manhandled Merlin onto his stomach, covered him with his body, and slid his cock into him. "You're an Incubus. I know you can feel it. I want to knot you, tie you down for hours. Make you mine."

Arthur's desire rushed at him, so thick he almost choked on it. It always tasted richer than anyone else's, making him certain he was Arthur's one. 

"Help me find out who and what my father is, why I have magic, and when I do, I'll still be here, not because I'm light or dark, but because of you."

"It's forever," Arthur said.

"Good."

* * *

**46.**  
 **Option:** Light  & Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** Infidelity, Outsider POV

Two cups of coffee sit on the counter, one black and the other with cream. She brushes the porcelain with her finger. They’ve long gone cold. A trail of clothing leads down a darkened hallway. A stream of light leaks out under a door and her stomach tightens when she spies a familiar blue scarf in a pile of hastily discarded clothes. Her stomach roils and she braces herself on the wall before her knees can give way. 

She thinks that maybe she knew before the scarf. Before the black coffee sitting next to her husband’s coffee with cream. Suspected it years ago in the back of her mind, but years ago isn’t tonight. It isn’t a shut door in a dark corner of her home - their home - when she came home a day early to surprise her husband. 

She can’t breathe, can’t catch air, can’t believe her husband would betray, can’t believe her _best friend_ would betray her. She can’t believe she’s been left with two cold cups of coffee and a blue scarf she saw three days ago, before her husband made a cuckold of her. 

She squeezes her hands, gathers herself, and twists the doorknob as quietly as possible to crack it open. Storming in and making a scene holds a certain appeal, but she knows better. Knows she needs to know what she’s facing, what the stakes are. 

On her bed - their bed - is her husband, flat on his back with his legs wrapped around her best friend as he fucks into him; long and deep, naked and open. It’s horrifying and beautiful and heartbreaking, but what knocks the air from her lungs is how they’re looking at each other. Never in her entire life has anyone looked at her the way her husband is looking at her best friend. The way her best friend returns the gaze. Fond. Affectionate. In love.

The only sounds she hears are the slap of skin on skin and the breathless quiet gasps and grunts. The bed doesn’t even have the decency to creak, not for them. 

She watches until her husband’s body tightens and his eyes slip shut, her best friend’s name on his lips like a benediction and a prayer. He’s gorgeous like this and she hates him, hates how perfect they look together. A tiny part of her hates herself more because she should have known. How had she not known? Traded barbs, heads bent heads in secret conferences, fleeting touches. Piece by wretched piece making up an obvious picture she had been too blind to see. Her vision blurs, making them look luminous and radiant as they move together. 

She backs away from the room, silent and solemn down the darkened hall and back to the coffee cups, one black and the other with cream. The ring on her finger feels leaden and tight and she pulls it off and sets it on the counter. 

She looks around the house. Sees muddy trainers sitting next to an old pair of slouchy boots. Intimate photographs on her fridge that used to look friendly. Tea she and her husband hate. Anger flares inside of her and she grabs her ring off the counter and drops it into the cup with cream for her husband to choke on later. 

She walks out the front door and doesn’t hesitate to slam it behind her.

* * *

**47.**  
 **Option:**  
Pairing: Gwen/Morgana  
Warning(s): n/a 

The warmth of candlelight greets Gwen as soon as she opens the door to her flat. She smiles, toeing off her shoes, and leaves her jacket and messenger bag with the shoes, more than ready to forget the pile of work she'd brought home.

Of course, there's not just one candle, but a veritable little forest of them, at least two dozen flickering flames inside multi-colored glass jars and on dishes and some even in the candlesticks Gwen found at a boot sale more than ten years ago. Their warm glow softens all the edges in the room and creates pools of light on the wood floor.

"You're ridiculous," Gwen says and nestles in on the sofa next to Morgana. Who's wearing a white button up shirt and, well, no, just the white button-up, Gwen discovers and with a sound of pleasure.

"Only for you. There's dinner. And wine," Morgana says. "Expensive wine. Enough to last us through tonight and possibly tomorrow morning."

"Ridiculous," Gwen repeats. She buries her face in Morgana's shoulder to breathe in the familiar, inimitable scent of expensive spicy-herbal body lotion over clean, warm skin. This is her first favorite part of nights like this: coming home to find Morgana with shower damp hair, half-dressed, relaxed, almost lazy. 

Her second part follows pretty quickly thereafter, the part where she undoes the few done up buttons on Morgana's shirt and Morgana slides a hand up Gwen's skirt. There's some aimless touching for a while, with Gwen's fingers wandering over Morgana's stomach and thighs, relearning the curve of her belly and the feel of her skin. 

"I like this," she says and cups her hand over the triangle of dark hair between Morgana's thighs. "The waxing was nice, but this is nice, too. Natural." 

"Mm. You could show a little more appreciation, if you'd like." Morgana smiles and stretches, lets her legs fall open a few inches, and cants her hips up towards Gwen. 

"I do. I do like," Gwen murmurs. "I like how wet you're getting already. You smell _amazing_. Like sweet, musky, spicy things. Good things. I'm going to put my hands and mouth all over you. Well, eventually," she adds, just petting gently over the soft dark hair and slipping the tip of one finger between Morgana's outer lips. 

Morgana's made her wait so long that Gwen's determined to take her time with this. She touches Morgana gently, barely fingering her before drawing her hand away to stroke her breasts and play with her nipples. 

When Gwen's had her fill of touching and teasing, the candles are nearly all burnt out, Gwen's clothes are in a rumpled pile by the sofa, and Morgana's flushed pink all over, panting and begging for Gwen to let her come. 

And Gwen does, first with her hands and then with her mouth, and then all over again not an hour later.

 

*

"I wish you'd stay." Gwen holds up her wine glass to let Morgana refill it and eases back against the pillows to drink. They'd had sex in the sitting room, then the kitchen, so it seemed to make perfect sense to have dinner in bed at half-past ten. "I know you won't, and that's all right. I'm glad you're here tonight." 

Morgana smiles over her shoulder as she adds the empty wine bottle to the pile of dishes on the floor by the bed. "I'm glad, too. And I will, you know. Someday I'll come home and never leave." 

"I know. And that makes me glad, too."

* * *

**48.**  
 **Option:** Light/Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** Mild sadomasochism, dubcon, ageplay, innocence!kink? Maybe?

Black knickers against pale skin, the jut of hipbones and a tiny ass. Further up, hardened nipples, the skin now splotched with red. It creeps up a long, beautiful neck, the color blooming beautifully underneath sharp cheekbones. Eyes are downcast obediently.

Each little detail is enough to have Arthur hard in his slacks but put together, Merlin is a breathtaking sight.

Arthur smirks, shifting in his seat as he tilts his head to the side.

“Come here,” he orders and then pats his lap.

Merlin climbs onto the bed, into his lap, and as soon as he’s close enough, Arthur has a hand down the back of his knickers, rubbing at his hole. Merlin’s hips jerk forward as he whines pitifully and Arthur feels his own cock throb in his pants.

He tries to keep the eagerness out of his voice but fails when he asks, “it hurts, doesn’t it?”

Merlin whimpers. “Yes, sir,” he answers, his tone all soft innocence. It makes Arthur groan, hips twitching up.

“My poor little boy.” Arthur coos soothingly. “You don’t want to play anymore, do you, baby? I’ve tired you out, haven’t I?”

Merlin’s only response is a whimper.

“You’re going to take my cock again, baby,” Arthur says next, an order. “I’m going to pull your pretty little knickers aside and put my cock inside you. I’m going to make you _scream_ and you’re going to tell me how much it hurts and beg for more. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. Please, sir.” He nuzzles against Arthur’s neck. “Please, I’m a good boy.”

Arthur smirks, petting Merlin with one hand as puts a finger inside him. He’s fashioned himself the perfect boy in Merlin, so eager for Arthur’s approval.

“Show me,” Arthur says. “Show me what a good boy you are. Take out my cock.”

Merlin scrambles to obey as Arthur reaches to where he left the lube on the floor beside them. By the time he’s managed to get it and get the top open, his pants are around his thighs and Merlin’s hands are on his cock, touching and teasing in all the right ways.

When his cock is slick, Arthur tosses the lube aside, pulling Merlin closer as his slips his finger out of him finally. He pulls the knickers aside, thrusting up to slide his cock between Merlin’s cheeks just to see the way Merlin’s eyes flutter.

He doesn’t ask Merlin if he’s ready; he never does. Merlin is obedient for him, Arthur doesn’t need to ask.

Positioning his cock, Arthur pushes Merlin down onto him, his head falling back as his erection is enveloped by his boy’s warm body. By the time Arthur is fully seated, Merlin is whimpering, whining, twitching on his cock.

Arthur pets his thighs, his sides, slides a hand into his hair. “Tell me, baby,” he says breathlessly. “ _Tell me._ ”

God, he needs to hear it. He knows but it’s not as good if he doesn’t hear Merlin say it.

Ever obedient, Merlin forces the words out, “Please, sir. It _hurts._ ” Arthur sees the truth of it in his face. His boy is caught between the need to please Arthur, the bliss of Arthur’s cock inside him, and his own body’s limits.

Arthur’s hips twitch up, trying to get his cock deeper. “ _And_?” He demands.

Merlin leans forward and whispers, somehow both innocent _and_ filthy, “make it hurt more.”

It snaps what little control Arthur has. Merlin his on his back, his legs in the air, before he can even blink. Arthur fucks him in earnest, punishing and rough. Merlin cries out, helpless to stop Arthur, and the sound only makes Arthur fuck him harder.

“Again,” Arthur hisses between thrusts. “Tell me again.”

Merlin sobs. “It hurts, sir,” he whines. “Oh, it hurts. Please, more.”

Arthur goes down on his elbows, grinding his cock deeper. “I love hurting you,” he says to Merlin. “I love making you take it, baby. I love when you cry for me. You’ll never tell me no, will you, baby?”

Merlin shakes his head frantically. “No, sir. I’m a good boy. Please.”

When Arthur comes, it’s with both hands on Merlin’s hips, bringing him hard down as his hips grind upwards, Merlin whimpering in his ear. He doesn’t pull out as he brings Merlin off, groaning when he feels Merlin’s muscles tightening around his softening cock.

They slump together, Arthur petting Merlin’s hair. “Good boy,” he whispers. “My gorgeous, perfect boy.”

Merlin shudders against him. “Thank you, sir.”

* * *

**49.**  
 **Option:** Both light and dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** barebacking

The only sounds reverberating across the room are the soft gasps they make, the rapids inhales and exhales of breath from exhaustion. The room is submerged in darkness and the only lights glimmering and providing some light, only enough so they can catch glimpses of each other, belong to the two almost burnt-out candles standing on the nightstand by the bed, reflecting glints of orange light on the silk sheets tangled around their waists as they move under them and against each other with practised ease. 

They do this all the time, but tonight it’s different, tomorrow everything will change. Arthur leaves in the morning to fight and Merlin stays in Camelot to watch over it, to protect it from anyone who ever dares to come close to Arthur’s home. He stays behind because Arthur has practically bullied him into it, and because as he has told Merlin in a moment of tenderness, there’s no one who he’d ever trust more than Merlin to do this task. Truth is, if Arthur happens to fall in battle, he wishes Merlin to take his place, and he can’t risk taking Merlin with him as he’s done many times before, because Merlin is everything he has now and losing him would mean losing everything. He needs Merlin by his side to rule over Albion, Albion needs Merlin.

It’s desperate, slow but hard, with a hurried pace to it, and both their bodies shake with each thrust of Arthur’s hips. It has the taste of a goodbye, a possible goodbye, that is, because Arthur hopes this isn’t one. 

He stares into Merlin’s eyes, rocking his hips deeply and feeling Merlin's damp breath against his lips before he presses their mouths together and steals Merlin a heartfelt kiss, touching his tongue to the seam of Merlin’s lips and then to Merlin’s own tongue, marvelling at the feel of their wet slide. When Merlin huffs a moan, Arthur kisses lower over the hollow of his throat, letting his hand travel across the beautiful contours of Merlin’s chest, and lower to take a hold of his cock, pulling at it whilst he feels himself tripping over the edge.

When he comes inside Merlin, Merlin’s warm arms tighten around him, as if grounding Arthur to him, soothing him, and when Merlin spills Arthur does the same to him, swallows Merlin’s little noises with a bruising kiss, holding Merlin in his palm as his dick pulses in Arthur's grip. He stays inside Merlin for as long as his body allows him, and he lays his head on Merlin’s shoulder until his dick slips out of Merlin slowly, long after they’ve both recovered their breaths and their heartbeats have slowed to a normal rhythm. 

“You’ll come back home to me,” Merlin says in a rough voice, but he sounds so sure and somehow demanding, as if his fate were in Arthur’s hands solely, that Arthur doesn’t have it in him to say ‘you don’t know that’, because no one knows what future will harbour, how long will it be until Arthur finds Merlin again. War is no game and Arthur is not playing soldiers. This is serious, this is a matter of life and death, and there’s no certainty that he’ll be back, back in one piece or back at all. Anything can happen in the battlefield, and Arthur doesn’t want to make a promise he can’t keep. 

The only clear thing in his mind, the only sure thing he can affirm to reassure Merlin’s worries is something no one can ever deny. He kisses Merlin’s temple and holds Merlin in his arms, needing to feel the warmth and solidity of Merlin’s body one more time, and then, trying not to display too much emotion so this moment doesn’t turn sorrowful, he says, “yes, Merlin, never forget you’re home to me.”


	3. Group C (Warnings)

**50.**  
 **Option:** Light  & Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Gwen/Lancelot  
 **Warning(s):** none

*

Lancelot laughs.

Gwen loves the sound of it, his obvious delight mingling, warming her as much as does the sunlight streaming across the bed. 

He touches her sides gently, smoothing his fingers across her skin as if he can't help but touch her. 

“If you could be anything,” he asks, looking up through the hair falling across his face, “do anything at all, what would you choose?” 

“Anything at all?” she ponders, reaching out to tangle her fingers gently in his hair. He kisses her stomach. 

“Anything in the world.”

“A maid to the Lady Morgana,” she says after a pause, and he starts to laugh again, “and a blacksmith's daughter. A knight's lover, perhaps,” she adds, just for the way he moves swiftly up the bed to kiss her properly. 

He pulls back as if to speak, but he says nothing, only stares at her for a long moment, his lips still curved up in a smile, before he kisses her again, deeper this time, and although still sated from her previous orgasm, Gwen feels a stirring in her cunt again.

It isn't long before he slides his fingers inside her, watching her face as she clutches at his hand to urge him to the right spot. He feels so good, he always does, so intent on her pleasure that he forgets his own. 

“I am not truly a knight yet, my lady,” he says, crooking his fingers perfectly and leaning in to kiss her breasts. “Hopefully I still past muster?” 

Gwen laughs as she comes.

*

He's different now.

It's not hard to understand why, not hard to see that the years have taken their toll. He hasn't told her of what he did after he left Camelot, but it's clear whatever happened has changed him.

She doesn't miss the way his eyes follow her, either, and she knows him well enough to see the desire he carefully conceals. Part of her longs to go to him, to take his hand and lead him to her bed as she one would have without a second thought.

But things are different now.

She's promised to Arthur, if only implicitly, and regardless of what she feels for Lancelot, she does love Arthur. More than that, though, she knows what he needs, for both himself and Camelot, and she knows she can give him that. 

Gwen loves Camelot and its people, as deeply as Arthur ever could, with perhaps a little more open-eyed understanding than one born into a life such as Arthur's ever could. Being Arthur's wife and their queen will be no chore; Gwen relishes the chance. 

It is a hard choice, though, and Gwen allows herself this just once, a chance to relish what she has chosen to give up.

He comes to her eagerly, but soberly, his understanding of what she wants implicit in the way he touches her. He lets her keep control, squeezing his eyes shut as she kneels above him, working her hips rhythmically, and he gasps when she kisses him and comes, breathing heavily against her skin.

Lancelot gives her his mouth, afterwards, and he draws it out, working her closer and closer to the edge before drawing back, until she's desperate, muscles aching, skin slick with sweat and she can't stop herself from begging.

“Lancelot, _please_ \- ”

It's only once he's left, once he's kissed her gently and silently re-dressed, that Gwen realises he didn't smile once.

* * *

**51.**  
 **Option:** Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Gwen, Gwen/Morgana  
 **Warning(s):** Noncon infidelity, misogyny, victim blaming, ugly jealousy, some horrific/gory images

They climb through bodies to get to her. They’re stacked carefully around the mesa, head to foot in a spiralling pattern of woven limbs that points up to where Morgana has taken Gwen. The rancid smell is not unfamiliar to Arthur, but he’s never encountered so many corpses in one place. The ones at the bottom are worst, the oldest, and they have to fight through scavengers to make their way up. Every body is placed face-out, the vacancy in their open eyes haunting when Arthur forgets to look away. It’s a startling view into Morgana’s madness. She thinks she’s creating something beautiful, that to kill makes her an artist.

They reach the top at noon, or what seems to be noon. The sun follows her rules here, bows to her artistry. Arthur glances at the stone dais and promptly turns away to be sick. Elyan looks unwell, his eyes wide and forehead sweaty, and Arthur notices Leon’s white-knuckled grip on the hilt of his sword. Only Merlin seems unfazed. Only Merlin _watches_. Arthur wants to strike him, to grab his head and force his gaze away.

They charge the dais but are thwarted by some unseen force, hurled away when they try to climb onto the stone slab and wrest Gwen from Morgana’s clutches. Elyan and Leon throw their shoulders against the barrier, attempting to weaken it, and Merlin just stares, his face ugly with concentration. Arthur can’t do anything but stand there clutching his hollowed-out gut, watching as his queen’s mouth grows filthy under Morgana’s cunt. She’s touching herself as Morgana rides her, grinds down against Gwen’s face and comes over her with vast, whorish sprays. The sounds Gwen makes as she drowns in it are foreign to Arthur, high-pitched and unrestrained. Morgana slaps between Gwen’s legs, brutally and repeatedly, and Gwen’s gagging for it. Arthur is overcome with loathing, hot in his chest as it squeezes out all the tenderness in him.

Gwen’s skin is painted with beautifully crafted runes, black lines curving around her flesh like they belong there, and Arthur feels they’ve erased all the places his hands have touched her, his imprint gone like it never mattered. Gwen doesn’t even look at him, her gaze fixed on Morgana, face pinched with pleasure. Morgana stuffs four fingers into Gwen, whose legs spread wider.

Morgana meets Arthur’s eyes and her lips curl into a sneer. She’s ugly like this, hair matted and skin greying, and it makes Arthur feel disgusted with Gwen. Morgana slides her thumb across Gwen’s mouth, and Gwen’s tongue comes to meet it, lapping at it as she moans.

Still looking at Arthur, Morgana says, too loud, “Who do you love?”

“Only you, my lady.”

Morgana smiles sweetly, but her eyes are flat and violent as she watches Arthur. “And who pleases you best?”

Morgana slides her thumb in alongside the other fingers and pushes, her whole hand disappearing into the slutty clutch of Gwen’s body. Gwen seems to fall apart around her, crying out in long wails that sever the last of Arthur’s attachment to her, leaving something hot and cruel in its place.

Elyan falls through the barrier with a loud clatter, and Arthur sees Merlin and Leon nod at one another. He tries to advance with them, but he can’t. He turns away, climbs down the mesa, kicking in the faces of the dead. He hacks at the corpses while he waits, sword slicing into decayed flesh, and the vultures leave him be. Arthur severs a new limb every time he thinks of how much better Morgana is at pleasing his wife than he ever was.

When the others make their way down, Gwen is unconscious in Leon’s arms, her body wrapped up in Camelot red, and Arthur wants to strangle her, to tear the cape from her body because she doesn’t deserve to be swathed in anything but shame. The ink on her skin has been smudged, and she looks dirty, pathetic.

“You can keep her,” Arthur tells Leon, full of disgust, and Merlin’s open hand collides with his cheek a moment later, the smart sting a welcome distraction from the overwhelming hatred in him.

Elyan’s lips are pressed shut tight, and his hands are shaking.

“She was enchanted,” Leon says. Arthur can hear the carefully contained rage in his voice.

“I know,” Arthur says, and he has known. “I don’t care.” Each step he takes away from them, the truer it becomes.

* * *

**52.**  
 **Option:** Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Gwaine/Morgana  
 **Warning(s):** Pegging

The lights go out two hours after they get back from the ski slopes. 

A thunderous crash is followed by an emphatic “Bloody fucking _hell_.”

Morgana sighs.

“Arthur!” she shouts. “Did you fuck Merlin’s magic stupid again?”

There’s an indignant squawk from somewhere nearby.

“Shut up,” Arthur says, pausing for a moment before adding, “Not this time.”

***

Morgana is bored. 

The few candles Gwen found don’t really provide enough light to keep reading, and they gave up playing cards pretty quickly. 

She eyes Gwaine where he’s slung sideways in the chair, his knees hooked over the armrest. He’s staring out into nothing, bouncing his feet. 

Making a decision, she gives a heavy sigh and pushes herself out of the chair. Reaching out to grab Gwaine’s hand, she pulls him up, ignoring his outburst of surprise. 

“Not that I’m complaining. Never complaining,” he says, his fingers flexing around hers, “but I’m a little worried about what you’re planning right now.”

Frankly, Gwaine should be more grateful. She’s been turning him down since they met and now she figures… why not? 

“Just shut up, Gwaine,” she says, pulling him along towards her bedroom and fumbles for the opening a little before she finds it.

She pushes him inside and closes the door behind them. 

“Morgana,” he says, hand splaying out on her back. “Is this a booty call? And here I thought you were _a proper lady_.”

She rolls her eyes. Her hands fumble a little before she cups his face and kisses him, effectively stopping him from saying anything else to ruin everything before it gets going. 

Maybe, perhaps, they should’ve done this before, because kissing Gwaine is… well, it’s pretty fucking spectacular, actually. And it makes her think of the thing she threw into her suitcase at the last minute, not quite knowing why, because who brings a strap on to a skiing vacation?

Thank fuck she did, though.

“Wait here,” she says, their lips brushing before she pulls back. 

She finds it at the bottom of the suitcase and a low hum of excitement spreads under her skin as her fingers brush over the silicone. She can’t quite find it in her to voice her question, so she takes his hand instead and closes it around the dildo. 

He stills. “Is that…?”

“Yeah.”

She’ll never admit it, but in that moment of silence she’s afraid, her heart running rapidly in her chest, wishing she could take it back. She should’ve waited until later, when they’d fucked enough to be comfortable. 

But then he groans and kisses her roughly, licking into her mouth. She can feel his hand shaking on her cheek.

“Yeah?” she says, swallowing heavily.

“Yeah.”

It’s difficult in the dark, even if her eyes are more adjusted now. She keeps her hands on him, to feel him, to know what he’s doing even if she can’t exactly see it properly. And not seeing it is almost better, so she can just feel that he’s opening himself up with his fingers, knees pushed into her bed. 

Fucking someone is her favourite thing. She doesn’t care if it’s girls or guys. The way her perspective is flipped makes everything more exciting, more intense. But there is, admittedly, something special about fucking guys. Because it _should_ be the other way around, but it isn’t. She feels the thrill of it the moment she puts the harness on, the heavy cock jutting out from her crotch.

Gwaine lets out a long breath when she pushes in slowly, one hand on her cock and the other on his hip. She fills him up, moving one hand down to feel the way he stretches around it. 

It’s not the first time he’s done this. Well, maybe with a girl, but certainly not all together. She knows because he just takes it, immediately pushing back into her to get her to move. He groans, loud, and his thighs shake as she starts moving her hips in practiced thrusts. 

She’s not uncertain about this anymore.

“Fuck, Morgana,” he says, voice strained. “Jesus, fuck. This is the hottest fucking… _God_.”

She fucks him incoherent after that, loving the way he arches under her. There are little shuddering sounds coming from him as he pushes himself greedily back against her, fucking himself on her dildo just as much as she’s fucking him with it. 

The next time they’re doing this, she wants to see his blissed out expression as he comes untouched all over the sheets.

* * *

**53.**  
 **Option:** light  & dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** recreational drug use (weed), voyeurism, toys, (very mild) comeplay

Arthur waved the steaming cup of coffee under Merlin’s nose until he shuddered into wakefulness, blindly reaching for the cup.

“Sit up, idiot, or you’ll scorch yourself.”

Merlin groaned unhappily, but dragged himself up so he could lean against the headboard. Merlin’s skin was sleep-warm and soft under Arthur’s hand. He tugged at a nipple, smiling as Merlin arched into the touch, before giving him the cup.

“Black, no sugar,” Arthur said as he let himself drop into the chair by the bed. “Just how you like it.” He grabbed his own coffee from the small table beside him and stretched his legs, feet resting on the bed. 

“You’ve never made me coffee before,” Merlin said, taking a sip, and moaning. Arthur’s cock twitched in his boxers.

“First time for everything.” Arthur reached for one of their unsmoked joints from last night still on the table. He lit it, and let the smoke fill him. The room already stank of weed and sex and sweat, he didn’t think adding on to it would matter much.

“Those are my boxers,” Merlin said, looking at Arthur’s crotch.

“You used mine to clean your come off yesterday.”

Merlin gave him a grin and scratched lightly at the hairs on his lower belly. He tugged lazily at his cock and took a sip of coffee never breaking eye contact with Arthur. Arthur looked back and let his legs fall open.

“Aren’t you going to help me with this?” Merlin said, putting his cup on the bedside table.

Arthur shook his head and exhale smoke into the air, his whole body pleasantly relaxed. “I’m good.”

Merlin raised an eyebrow at him, but reached out to grab the bottle of lube from the floor. He planted his feet on the bed, and shifted his hips, letting Arthur see that his hole was still loose and wet from last night’s fucking, red and glistening. Arthur took a shuddery breath. He palmed himself, already half-hard, and took another drag. 

Merlin pushed long lubed fingers inside himself, body automatically moving into it. With his other hand, he opened the bedside drawer and pulled out a dildo.

Arthur let out a groan, hand pushing harder against his erection. He held his joint between his lips, and watched through the smoke Merlin push the toy inside of him, easy and smooth—a long slow glide. Merlin’s body was still pliant with sleep, so relaxed and opened and every single of the small whimpers he let out as he started fucking himself made Arthur’s skin tingle and the hairs on his thighs and arms stand up.

Merlin tugged at his cock and balls with his other hand, never letting his gaze falter from Arthur’s. He gave a small twitch of his chin toward him with a lazy smile.

Arthur took a drag of his joint and got up to crawl slowly between Merlin’s legs. He wrapped his fingers around the dildo, following Merlin’s rhythm. He nudged Merlin’s nose with his and Merlin licked and parted his lips, his mouth wet and opened just like the rest of his body, and Arthur blew the smoke in his lungs into it. It curled warm and a bit acrid between their lips, and Merlin inhale deeply, almost choking as Arthur gave a sudden, harsher twist of his hand, pushing the dildo deep inside Merlin, their noises indecently loud in the quietness of the morning. 

Arthur kissed him, more tongue than lips, dirty and wet—tasting of weed and coffee and sex. 

Merlin let go of the dildo, and started jerking at his cock faster. Arthur looked down between their bodies, feeling soft and strong at the same time, skin buzzing with it. He fucked Merlin with the toy, his eyes on Merlin’s hand. Merlin came with a soft cry, teeth closing into Arthur’s shoulder, toes dragging and curling on Arthur’s calves.

Arthur pushed into him a few more times, earning him a glare and a muffled whine, before dragging the dildo out. He let himself fall to the side, his fingers splayed over Merlin’s come-covered chest. Merlin looked at him through half-lidded eyes, panting, as Arthur licked his fingers clean, closing his eyes.

Merlin pushed him on his back and straddled him, slow and uncoordinated, and grinded his arse against Arthur’s hard cock.

“Coffee’s cold,” Arthur said, hands on Merlin’s hips.

“I’ll make you another,” Merlin mumbled into Arthur’s neck. “Lots of milk, two sugars.”

“Just like I—”

“Just like you like it, yes. Now, fuck me.”

* * *

**54.**  
 **Option:** Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Mordred  
 **Warning(s):** So very Non-Con, forced orgasm. 

Conscience thought was the first sign of Merlin’s wakefulness. Wherever he was being kept, was so dark there was little difference if his eyelids were opened or closed. There was no sound or smell to be had. It’s like he was hovering in a space of nothingness, if not for the rough ground he lie upon.

He knew it was magic that was used to dull all his senses, because it also was binding his powers as tightly to him, as the binds that kept his hands behind him. He didn’t know who did this, but he had some ideas, only a few magic users would kidnap him, from the heart of Camelot no less. 

His suspicions were confound when from the darkness, Mordred appeared in front of him, lit candle in hand, illuminating his face in a sickly yellow glow. 

“Mordred, what are you doing?” 

“Something I should have done that day, we found you and Arthur in that net. I am saving you Emrys,” Mordred answered, tipping the candle on it’s side. With a flash of golden eyes, the flame detached from the wick, and another flash caused the flame to multiply into dozens of little flames, floating around the dark room like little fiery stars. “You don’t belong here Emrys.”

“Mordred, I have told you before it is my destiny.”

“To be Arthur’s equal, not his bootlicking, lovelorn, manservant!” Mordred spat back, before taking time to calm himself. Placing a hand on Merlin’s breastbone, Mordred slid his hand down, eyes glowing the same bright glow as the floating lights, clothes melting away as his hand passed, exposing Merlin’s pale, milky, flesh.

“Mordred, don’t do this,” Merlin pleaded.

“Why? So you can long for your Golden King? Does it tear you at night, knowing he is sleeping next to his chosen Queen? The woman he chose for love, not power.” 

“Mordred-”

“He doesn’t see you, you know. Not the real you. Not like _I_ know you Emrys,” Mordred lay his hands on Merlin’s skin, forcing magic into him, causing Merlin’s blood to rush and breath to catch. “Like you, I have kept my true power hidden Emrys.”

Mordred adjusted them to kneel between Merlin’s legs, brushing Merlin’s hair out of his eyes, in an almost loving gesture. “Ever since you helped me escape Camelot, when I was young, I have been learning, training, growing stronger, wanting to stand at the side of the great Emrys. But seeing you again, the beauty hidden under the mud Arthur keeps you in, I knew how I could be at your side.”  
“Mordred, you need to stop. _Please._ ”

“Shhh, love,” Mordred tried to lull Merlin’s panic, pushing more power into him, “just give into the magic.”

“No. Mordred not like this,” Merlin shook, sweat beading on his skin trying to fight the spell.

“I can make you feel so good. Better than your Golden King, who doesn’t deserve to kiss your feet.” Mordred lightly dragged his finger tips down, taking pleasure in Merlin leaning into his touch. 

“There are parts of you, that are enjoying this,” Mordred firm grip on Merlin’s hardened cock, caused the warlock's head to tip back, and release a strangled moan, “very important parts, Emrys.”

“It’s not real...just a...byproduct...of your magic.”

“Yes, but one day it will be. You’ll yearn for my touch, for the power will create when we are together,” Merlin’s cock pulsed under Mordred hand, as he worked his hand over the shaft. Merlin, try as he might, could not stop his body from its shallow, erratic thrusts.

“You move so beautifully Emrys, I bet you’ll move exquisitely under me.”

“No, no nonono.” 

“Calm yourself Emrys, that I’ll wait for. But until then-” Mordred pushed one finger inside Merlin,  
gradually, until it was buried to the hilt. “Oh Emrys, you feel so good.”

Moving his finger in time with his hand on Merlin’s cock, Mordred sent tendrils of magic deep into Merlin’s channel, letting it play along every nerve. Focusing on his prostate, Mordred pushed a spark of magic, milking the bundle of nerves. Merlin screamed, till his voice was hoarse from having an orgaism forced from him. 

“See my love,” Mordred, lay kisses on Merlin’s hip feeling the older man trimble under his lips, “see how fierce our passion can be? What _he_ can never give you?”

“No, never-”

“Hush, love.” Mordred stood, eyes flashing one last time, cloaking the room in darkness, “don’t worry, will try again tomorrow.”

* * *

**55.**  
 **Option:**  
 **Pairing:** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warnings:** mild D/s, shaving

Arthur stretches his arms up and watches as Merlin paints a thick black line across Arthur's wrists and onto the canvas. It tickles a bit and make's Arthur twitch.

"Don't move," Merlin says absently, and of course that makes Arthur's nose itch.

"I know the drill, Merlin. Just do your thing."

It isn't the first time Arthur has modeled for Merlin's photo shoots. It's not even the first time he's modeled naked, though the paint is new.

Merlin dips his brush into the white body paint and flicks it across Arthur's chest. A small drop lands on Arthur's chin, and Arthur struggles not to squirm.

"It's not right," Merlin says. "I think... yeah, hold on."

Merlin gets up and runs out of the room, leaving the wet brush lying on Arthur's stomach. Arthur can feel the wet paint slowly pooling in his navel, and he has to tighten his muscles in order to stay still and not ruin Merlin's artwork.

"What are you doing?" he asks to distract himself. He wishes Merlin would tell him in advance what he's planning, but Merlin is as secretive about his process as he is about everything else. Sometimes Arthur thinks they're best friends, other times he's left wondering if he even knows who Merlin is at all.

Merlin comes back with a can of shaving cream and a razor. "I have to clear the surface." His cheeks tint red. "If that's all right."

Arthur almost says yes, then realizes what Merlin means. His mouth feels dry, and he really can't stop his cock from twitching, no matter how hard he works to keep his body still. He takes several deep breaths and quietly says, "Okay."

He closes his eyes so that he doesn't have to watch, because he doesn't think he can handle _seeing_ Merlin touch him like that.

"Oh, that's good," Merlin mumbles, and a moment later a cold liquid is brushed across eyelids. 

Arthur tells himself he's keeping his eyes closed to let the paint dry. He wonders what color Merlin used, whether the line across his face is black or white, and then he's distracted out of his thoughts by the sound of the first dab of gel on his skin.

It's cold, and that's a relief right until Merlin puts his hand on Arthur's thigh. "Don't move," Merlin says again, then brings the razor down just inches away from where Arthur's cock starts. The razor moves down in short strokes, and every time the blade touches his skin it feels like static buzzing inside him.

Merlin doesn't mention Arthur's growing erection at all, and Arthur isn't sure whether to be grateful or not. He dares to open his eyes, and the first thing he sees is Merlin bending low. If he lowered himself just a few more inches--

Arthur gasps and jolts away, smearing the paint on his wrists.

Merlin frowns at him. "Stop that. I'm almost done." 

It takes three swallows before Arthur can say, "Then get on with it." 

"Almost done" is not quite true though, because Merlin gingerly touches Arthur's dick and pushes it aside so he can smear shaving gel over Arthur's balls. _Fuck._ Arthur's thigh twitches with the effort to keep still. A part of him is terrified that something could go wrong, but Merlin's hands are steady as he slowly strips the hair from Arthur's balls. 

Arthur is completely hard by the time Merlin gently towels Arthur clean. And now Merlin is just _staring_ at him, staring at the evidence of how much Arthur wants Merlin, with his cock looking even larger without his pubic hair to hide anything. 

Pendragons are no cowards though. "Merlin, I--" he starts, but Merlin cuts him off.

"Don't worry, I know. Automatic reaction." Merlin dips his paintbrush into the black paint and uses it to paint Arthur's right palm completely in black. "Grab your cock," he says, and Arthur obeys because he can't think of doing anything else.

"Stroke yourself," Merlin says as he stands up to grab his camera. "And close your eyes."

Arthur does, using the paint as lube, probably spreading drops all over his newly shaved skin. He hears the click of the camera, and all he can think of is that _Merlin is watching_ , and it's better than any fantasy. When he orgasms, his movements smear the paint even more, black and white and come growing sticky and stale all over the canvas of his skin.

* * *

**56.**  
 **Option:** Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Unidentified male  
 **Warning(s):** \--

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Arthur shouted over the music.

“You needed a break and we both know it. Now go get ‘em, tiger.”

The slap on the back caught Arthur off guard, and he stumbled. Once he regained his footing, he turned back to shoot his friend a glare, though it was rather ineffective given they wouldn’t see it in the dark.

When he’d been told the place was called _Blackout_ , Arthur hadn’t thought that would be the _theme_.

Still, it was probably for the best. If the tabloids caught wind of what he’d done, his father would have a meltdown. He could see the headlines now: _Prince Arthur Gone Wild_ , as if he was still a teenager and not in his twenties.

On the dance floor, Arthur was surrounded by faceless people, all of them cramped together and touching each other; finally a song came on that he distantly recognised, and slowly he began loosening up, trying to go with the flow of things as he began dancing.

This wasn’t working. He was supposed to be _relaxing_ , but he was just becoming more tense. Arthur was just considering walking away from the floor when suddenly there were hands on his hips.

“Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” came the (male) voice in his ear when Arthur started in surprise. 

“No, it’s...fine,” Arthur told him.

“You want to dance?” the voice asked.

“Sure,” Arthur said, and immediately the other man was pressed up against his back, moving his hips in time with the beat.

When the man spoke in his ear again, his voice sounded breathless. “What’s your name?” he asked. Arthur shook his head, and he felt the man shrug. “Okay, no names. That’s fine.”

It was a shame, really, because Arthur would liked to have known who they were, but it was better this way; plausible deniability and all that.

They danced together for a few more songs before the voice came again. “What do you say we get to know each other off the dance floor?”

“Yeah, yes,” Arthur answered, almost too quickly if the low chuckle in his ear was any indication. The man took his hand and pulled Arthur along after him, walking easily as if the entire place wasn’t almost pitch black and made it impossible to see where one was going.

Once they came to a stop in an area apparently free of other people, the other man leaned in close again. “Mind if I give you a blowjob?”

Part of Arthur wanted to say no, just because he was the _prince_ and he was supposed to be the perfect son and if it got out...

But he wanted to say yes more.

“Okay,” he said, swallowing nervously as the man’s hands began travelling down his body, and when he felt his zipper being undone he knew the man had gotten to his knees. He was already getting hard when his cock was brought out into the open, and the man stroked it gently, making sure it was slick before Arthur felt a condom being rolled on.

The next thing Arthur knew, there was heart on his cock before a warm, wet mouth enveloped it, felt even through the latex. Almost without meaning to, his hands found the man’s hair, tangling in it as he threw his head back.

He probably should have asked before doing that, but the man didn’t seem to mind, if the way he was swallowing Arthur down was any indication, humming around it and causing Arthur’s knees to grow weak at the feeling.

It only took a few minutes before Arthur was coming, hard, and then the condom was being removed before the man stood up and kissed Arthur, hard.

He tasted of latex, but it was still the best kiss Arthur had ever had as he responded with enthusiasm. Eventually, though, the man pulled away, and Arthur did most definitely not whimper at the loss.

“Thank you,” he said, almost too lowly to be heard, but the man did.

“Thank _you_ ,” he returned. “Maybe I’ll see you around?”

Before Arthur could respond, however, the man was gone, leaving him to sag against the wall in disbelief and hope, in some corner of his mind, that they would run into each other again in the future.

* * *

**57.**  
 **Option:** Light  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** Bright light.

"Wakey wakey! Rise and shine!" The harsh rattle of curtains being dragged too fast on their hangers made him flinch, but it was sufficient warning for Merlin to squeeze his eyes tightly shut even before he was awake enough to understand what was happening.

The sunlight was burning through his eyelids into Merlin's eyeballs. If he opened his eyes, he would be instantly blinded, and possibly turned into a pile of ash. "Go away," he moaned, and waved a hand feebly in the direction of the smug satisfaction he could practically feel radiating from the window. "I mean it. And shut the curtains on your way out."

"No, Merlin. It's time for you to wake up. This is payback for all the times you woke me in ridiculous ways," said the insufferable, sadistic bastard from way too close, damn his silent warrior's feet. Why had he written the Golden King as a graceful warrior and not a lumbering hippo?

Or a better question would be, why was this overly cheerful figment of his imagination still here and not gone like the dream or insomnia-induced hallucination Merlin had assumed him to be? He felt the blanket flip to the side, and kicked out instinctively at the touch of a hand to his ankle. 

"Oof!" his tormenter said, and vindictive pride warmed him and eased some of the burning from the red glare on his poor eyelids.

"You're a bloody comic book character; you're _my_ bloody comic book character that I designed, and that I draw and write for; fucking leave me alone or I will make you fall in love with a smelly, horseshit-eating troll in the next bloody issue, you royal arse."

A huff of amusement, and then strong hands clamped over his ankles, pinning them in place. "You've got the wrong king for that," said the King, in warmly amused tones."Come on, wake already."

A weight settled on the bed between his legs. Oh, the King wasn't trying to tickle him, then. Merlin kept his eyes closed against the light, stubbornly, and obligingly spread his legs wider to let his persistent hallucination shuffle closer on the bed, and the callused hands slid up his legs to frame his bared privates, thumbs circling over the sensitive innermost area of his inner thighs.

Merlin shivered, and both he and his cock sprang to alertness in pleasant anticipation, remembering the things they did last night, when he'd thought that he was only dreaming the whole thing.

He gasped and jerked in the King's firm grip when, instead of going straight for his arse or swallowing him down, the King exhaled hotly over his cock, taunting. "What-" he managed, before a light lick over his cockhead made him jump again, and was followed by barely-felt kisses and licks over his thighs, the length of his cock.

"What are you doing, Pendragon," he demanded, squirming as the gentle evil mouth teased its way to his aching balls and the cruel tongue pressed briefly on his taint, pulling pleasure from deep inside, and his feet clenched in desperate reaction. Reaching out blindly, he failed to grab the infuriating man, and the ticklish touches stopped. He clutched at the sheets, and whimpered, still pinned to the bed. "Please, what do you want?"

In answer, Pendragon nipped his inner thigh, fiercely, and as he yelped and flailed, crawled up to press their bodies together -- face to face, chest to chest, belly to belly, straining cock to straining cock. He pulled back, and pushed down again, rubbing them together, and Merlin grabbed his back and pressed close in relief, amazed at how easy he found their closeness, even though Pendragon was an imaginary man and didn't really exist. Perhaps he had gone mad.

He felt Pendragon's cheek brush over his lips, too bristly for fantasy, and accepted the hard, invasive kiss Pendragon pressed on him, their mutual morning breath be damned, the glare on his lids relieved by the man's bloody big head. When they had to stop for air, still rocking into each other, more for comfortable pleasure than urgent need, Pendragon spoke, very softly, and Merlin had to strain to catch his words.

"I want you to open your eyes," he said, and Merlin did, inhaling deeply as his eyes burned hot with inexplicable tears at the way the sun turned Arthur's bright golden hair into a halo, "and remember me."

"I do," Merlin answered, and shuddered against him.

* * *

**58.**  
 **Option:** Light  & Dark.  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin.  
 **Warning(s):** None.

The ship’s long and narrow and lacking even the smallest spark of life, and Arthur curses Uther’s gambling habits one last time.

It’s an old _Emrys 2099_ , a model discontinued more than a century ago. But all Arthur’s got is a handful of credits and the small crystal cone tucked haphazardly, miraculously in the back of Uther’s safe, so he treats his days of piloting speedy _Jaguars_ to a sober goodbye and embraces his new home for the foreseeable future.

Well, he kicks the door in a fit of frustration, but close enough. 

On the upside, he doesn’t need to trade his liver for any of the spare parts, but then he nearly loses an arm and a leg trying to retrieve them from tottering heaps of discarded junk on the moons of Athos. He nearly loses his nose, too, but it turns out only to be a little bit broken.

It takes him five months of hope, oddly akin to desperation, and using his last credits to key in coffee orders brought by a city service robot, who when asked what he thinks tells Arthur politely, ‘Terrible paint job, sir.’

His hands tremble only slightly when he finally slots the crystal into place, but when the ship lights up like a beacon, he shakes all over with laughter that sounds a lot like relief.

*

Most of the fresh paint flakes off on the very first trip, leaving the scratchy blue and faded red-gold insignia, but Arthur’s too preoccupied those first months to puzzle over it for long. 

The ship keeps throwing him off his game: suddenly goes dark at the most inconvenient times, or ever so slightly off course. But he’s Arthur Pendragon, godammit, and if anyone can make the _Emrys_ obey, it’s him. 

Or so he keeps telling himself while he’s reduced to petting the instrument board and whispering, ‘Come on, sweetheart,’ in a desperate last attempt to cajole it into not crashing them into a meteor just off Carlion. 

After his muscles stop seizing up in terror, Arthur makes a mental note that this tactic seems to work better than cursing at it.

*

He refuses to transport human cargo, preferring long, solitary flights; forgets the friends that forgot him as soon as his credit ran out.

He follows into his father’s footsteps: quietly floats through space in a metal container, except with more breathing and light and less likelihood of being sucked into someone’s rotor. 

Of course, with the _Emrys_ , you never know. 

*

He doesn’t need anyone. He doesn’t. 

So why he’s hallucinating a man practically sitting in his lap is anyone’s guess. Also why he’s glowing like the odd light cones Arthur never needs to replace, so different from modern artificial light. Space craziness is on Arthur’s list of possibilities. It’s a very short list.

The man reaches out and strokes up his cock, where it lies wetly and forgotten against Arthur’s stomach, then curiously licks his fingers. 

‘Excuse me!’ says Arthur, strangled, because unusually glowy man or no, that’s just rude. 

The man scowls and says, like he just remembered, ‘Stop abusing the thrusters. They’re about to give out.’ 

Then he’s gone. The lights flicker as if to underline a point.

‘Right. Going crazy,’ Arthur says. ‘Check.’

The sudden darkness feels weirdly disappointed.

* 

(There’s a war on Trevena. Arthur doesn’t mean to break his rule, but if people find their way into his cargo bay and manage to sneak onto Aspis, well, he can’t help it, can he?)

*

‘Do I know you?’ the man says when he suddenly appears in the shower, looking puzzled.

Arthur drops the soap.

*

Merlin doesn’t remember where he’s from, or how old he is.

He glows like the ship; his skin hums like it, too. He touches himself like he doesn’t remember being human, either. 

It takes him a few appearances to remember how to smile, but when he does, Arthur smiles back.

*

Arthur learns not to give Merlin any coffee if he doesn’t want the ship to shake.

Merlin learns about chocolate, and about getting himself off, which he does with abandon, shameless under Arthur’s gaze; then about fucking himself on Arthur’s cock with his head thrown back. 

The lights go out a lot, but Merlin’s eyes shine golden. 

*

‘For a ship, you’re weirdly into biting.’

‘For a human, you’re weirdly not too bad.’

*

‘You should be nicer to people. It would be a shame if I had to find a new pilot just because someone stabbed you for being an idiot.’

‘Shut up, Merlin.’

*

Arthur doesn’t need anyone. He doesn't. 

He’s got his ship, after all.

* * *

**59.**  
 **Option:** Dark  
 **Pairing:** Nimueh/Uther/Ygraine  
 **Warnings:** repercussions of the life-for-a-life deal

Ygraine looks like she’s swallowed the sun. Her belly is round, the rest of her almost comically unchanged with her pregnancy (Alice assures them it is often so with first pregnancies, that Ygraine’s slenderness is not a sign of illness), and Nimueh can feel her magic crawling under Ygraine’s skin, making a life that is waiting to get out. It’s a little horrifying and a little fascinating, knowing that her magic and Uther’s seed did this. More horrifying than fascinating, with the exchange of lives almost upon them.

Tonight, Ygraine reclines on the pillows like the queen she is while the King of Camelot kisses his way across her belly, and Nimueh finds them so as she slips into their chambers. Uther does not look up, but Ygraine reaches out. “We expected you long ago.”

Nimueh goes to them. She curves her hand around the back of Uther’s skull in an easy motion on her way to Ygraine’s side, leaning in to kiss her and then him when he deigns to look up. “And when the Queen and King of Camelot are sequestered in their chambers, who do the people go to with their problems?”

“Poor love.” Ygraine pulls at her arm until she climbs into the bed, shedding her gown as she goes with a spell, frivolous as the use of magic is. “Gaius left a few minutes before you came.”

Nimueh looks up sharply, first at her and then at Uther. “And?”

“If not tomorrow, then the next day.” Ygraine’s face is shining, and Nimueh has never hated herself like this, has never questioned her own judgment so. Ygraine is a soft heart, and would not be able to stand the thought of someone dying that her heir might live, but should they have told her anyway? What will she do if it is one of them who falls dead when her child draws breath? What price do the gods consider worthy of an heir?

(In her worst, most terrible nightmares, they lose Ygraine, but the gods cannot be that cruel. She’s the center—of their bed, of Camelot. What would Nimueh and Uther do without her?)

“And we will have a child to raise.” She kisses Ygraine again, and then draws Uther up the bed to kiss him as well. He nips at her lip, and she bites back, a little harder. This risk was his idea. Nimueh offered to bear him a child in Ygraine’s name, but she was intoxicated by the idea of a child that will be truly all three of theirs.

“A crown prince for Camelot,” says Uther, all male triumph and dynasty.

“A princess to learn the Old Religion,” Nimueh counters.

Ygraine laughs. “The two of you. Come, do we wish to spend our last night without an infant to care for squabbling? Kiss and make peace.”

Nimueh knows what she means by that. It’s something she’s asked for more, as the pregnancy makes her exhausted and too round to move comfortably. She wants to watch them. By now, it’s easy to exchange looks with Uther to see where they ought to move, and how. They may not always like each other, she and Uther, but they understand one another, and there is no denying they want each other.

Tonight, Nimueh rolls the great warrior to his back so he can keep a hand on his queen’s stomach, feel the kick of life there. He’s all scar and callus, as any man who takes a kingdom by force must be. He is a conqueror by nature, her king, but sometimes he allows himself to be conquered.

Uther takes her by the hips, and Nimueh sinks down on his cock, falling easily into the well-known rhythm. They are both gentle with Ygraine, unless she fights them into roughness, but they are never easy on each other. The sex is a battle, and Nimueh doesn’t care which of them wins, because tonight especially it’s for Ygraine’s pleasure. Her eyes are heavy on them.

Nimueh rides Uther and gives him neither quarter nor mercy, not that he would ask for it. Ygraine breathes heavily next to them, biting her lips until they’re red, and they give her what she wants. They’ll always give her what she wants, even a child, even the life that child will take.

 _I hope it’s yours,_ she thinks, meeting Uther’s eyes, and comes knowing Uther is thinking the same.

Beside her, she feels the magic spark to life.

* * *

**60.**  
 **Option:** Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** Dark themes, violence, breathplay

It isn’t anything big that draws his attention to it, nothing specific, but Merlin just has this— inclination, this off feeling when he stops and thinks about it long enough.

It’s in the slant of his mouth, the hard steel-glint of his eyes, and the way his hands feel on Merlin’s skin: harder, rougher. Possessive.

Now that Merlin’s seen it, he can’t unsee it: can’t pretend that the man that walked out of the lake is the same one he reverently placed in a boat and set adrift.

Can’t deny the fact that the man he loves came back different.

When the first body turns up, Merlin doesn’t think anything of it; he doesn’t even recognise the bloke until the news report says he’d been found outside the hospital where he used to work. Merlin remembers then: he was the nurse who turned Merlin away from visiting his mum, saying it was outside visiting hours. 

“You didn’t hurt him, did you?” Merlin asks, not expecting an answer.

“I didn’t like the way he talked to you,” Arthur says, and Merlin tries to tamp down the sick feeling in his stomach.

When Merlin is fired from his job at the garden centre, his boss turns up a week later, his neck snapped and Merlin just knows the hands that snapped that neck are the ones that touch him every night.

“You can’t keep doing this, Arthur,” Merlin says, fear coiled tight in his lungs.

“I know.” Arthur bows his head and he looks like a child. “I just have these feelings. I get so angry that I can’t help myself— I don’t know what’s happening to me, Merlin.”

Merlin tries not to cry when Arthur clings to him, his face pressed into his neck and whispers, “I’ve just missed you so much.”

When the woman from Number 8, who called Merlin a creepy little faggot gets discovered in her bedroom, smothered by a pillow, Merlin has no choice but to act.

“What do I have to do?” Merlin asks, “to make you stop?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur says, and he sounds so lost that Merlin has to reach out and lay a hand on Arthur’s cheek, stroke his cheekbone with his thumb. He realises he isn’t scared of him, he’s scared _for_ him and that’s quite a distinction.

“If you hurt me—” Merlin says, “would that help?”

Arthur reels back like he’s been shot. “I could never hurt you,” he says. “Never.”

“But what if I let you?” Merlin asks. “What then?”

He grabs Arthur’s hand and places it on his throat. Arthur’s eyes widen in horror and he pulls it away. Merlin just smiles. “It’s okay,” Merlin says, “I can stop you if it goes too far. Magic, remember?”

Merlin leads Arthur to the bed and they kiss: open-mouthed, obscene. Merlin strips his clothes off, only pausing the kiss to pull his t-shirt over his head. He unzips Arthur’s jeans, pushes his underwear aside and rides him slowly, Arthur’s cock driving deep inside him.

When Arthur’s hand wraps around his throat, Merlin isn’t the least bit frightened. He pushes forward and groans when Arthur’s thumb presses into his carotid.

“You like this?” Arthur asks, awed.

“I like you,” Merlin says, “I love you. This is killing you, Arthur. So do it.”

Arthur digs his fingers in and holds Merlin tight around the throat while Merlin fucks himself on Arthur’s cock. When Merlin comes, he can’t breathe for a minute. Sparks dance in front of his eyes and Arthur flips them over, works his cock deep into Merlin’s body.

When Arthur comes deep inside Merlin, his hand still wrapped around Merlin’s throat, he looks like himself again, beautiful and unattainable and golden.

Merlin has finger-shaped bruises around his throat like a necklace, and Arthur digs into them with his thumbs and whispers, “Thank you. I thought maybe you’d make me leave.”

Merlin shakes his head and kisses Arthur once, a quick brush of lips. “Never. You’re never leaving me again.”

When the waiter at dinner a week later looks down his nose at Merlin, and Arthur looks homicidal, Merlin placates him with a hand on his leg. Later, he lets Arthur tie him to the bed and bring him to the edge over and over again, scratching and biting so hard he breaks skin.

Arthur whispers apologies into his skin afterwards, his tongue soothing, and Merlin wears his marks as if they were the Pendragon crest.

* * *

**61.**  
 **Option:** A little bit of column A, little bit of column B  
 **Pairing(s):** Gwen/Nimueh  
 **Warning(s):** Dubious consent. 

Nimueh sees them in her wide, shallow pool.

Merlin checks his champion’s straps and buckles, makes finicky adjustments at shoulder and waist. He’s anxious. Nimueh can see it in his face and is equal parts amused and bored. He knows better than to come for Arthur himself, and so he sends this small knight — another inevitable sacrifice for Camelot; another in a long line of short-lived entertainments for Nimueh.

At least this one looks interesting, all in dark armour.

X

His breathing is shallow, distressed. His fingers tremble over the gorget, which gleams black as pitch. He spent all night polishing it. What good a mirror shine will do is unclear, but if it soothed him it was worthwhile.

“Be careful,” he whispers, face turned away, like he fears someone is listening. “The White Witch is dangerous.”

When he has checked everything at least three times, he finally stills, unveiling a beautiful sword with a jet pommel. He offers it, hilt first.

X

Nimueh lounges some distance from the tower, sipping from a chalice of wine. There is a crunch of leaves, the careless, heavy steps of a trespasser. She sighs, scattering wildlife from the field of imminent battle with a shrug of her will. The crunching stops.

“I seek the White Witch!” calls a strong, clear voice. Nimueh stills, then begins to laugh, the sound echoing through the trees, a gleeful cacophony.

She reveals herself. Her gown is white and plain — she wouldn’t want to disappoint expectations, even those of such an unorthodox challenger.

“I am the one you seek, called Nimueh by the Isle,” she says. “Name yourself and your purpose here.”

The black knight lifts her helmet, shaking out a fall of brown hair.

“I am Sir Guinevere,” she says. “And I come to reclaim what is mine.”

X

Nimueh’s smirk is red. She circles Gwen, assessing.

“I would crush my ivory tower, and your king inside it, before I suffered Merlin in these lands,” she says. “And so he sends you to me in his stead. A maid. Has he run out of knights and resorted to pawns?”

Gwen says nothing, only watches Nimueh with caution.

“He’s taught you well,” Nimueh says. “Fine. Hear your challenge. You must best me in physical contest.”

Suspicious, Gwen asks, “That is all?”

“Pin me but once and Arthur is yours.” Nimueh holds out her hand.

Gwen hesitates only a moment before taking it.

X

“The deal is struck.” Nimueh grins. Her dress dissolves with Guinevere’s armour, leaving them both bare. Guinevere jerks, as if to recoil, and Nimueh digs in with her nails and holds her fast — tugs her close. She strokes one high cheekbone, a mocking caress.

Guinevere shoves forward, tumbling them into the loam. She is frantic, desperate, scrambling for purchase. It makes Nimueh laugh again, delighted. There is a brief moment where she can see victory cross Guinevere’s eyes, her knees having found their purchase on either side of Nimueh’s hips, her free arm braced against Nimueh’s ribs. It takes only the faintest current of magic across her belly to make her freeze.

“Ooh,” Nimueh tuts with false pity.

White light crackles over Guinevere’s breasts, sparking at her nipples. She cries out, arching sharply. As soon as the magic recedes she snarls, striking out like an angry cat. Nimueh hits her with another bolt of power before the blow can land, this time right in her cunt, a rhythmic pulse that makes her collapse, writhing.

“You didn’t believe it would be that easy, did you?” Nimueh says, smoothing the hair away from Guinevere’s open mouth. She thumbs her soft lips, rolling magic into her sex. It’s a matter of minutes before she’s gone pliant, wet, grasping for more.

“Shhh,” Nimueh hushes over Guinevere’s desperate noises, crawling between her legs. Magic swells between them, questing, following the guidance of Nimueh’s hips against Guinevere’s ready cunt. She’s so hot for touch she accepts Nimueh into her arms, whines at each ginger, teasing press of energy against her slit. Nimueh grins, showing her teeth. “Mewl for me, kitten,” she hisses, speaking close to Guinevere’s ear, savouring the wet spread around her shifting, firming cock.

The breath shocks out of her when Guinevere _rolls_ them, sheathing herself on Nimueh’s magic with a triumphant shout.

Nimueh stills when something sharp presses just beneath her jaw — a jagged stick Guinevere leans into her skin.

“Not a kitten,” she pants, smiling. “Nor a pawn. A _Queen_. And I take the tower.”

* * *

**62.**  
 **Option:** Dark (but not a dark fic)  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** non-magic high school au

"This is all your fault."

"It is not!"

"Oh, really, Merlin? Then how do _you_ explain why we're currently trapped in a broom cupboard on school grounds after hours?"

"…Shit timing?"

"Are you serious – no, forget it, this isn't helping us get out of here. Bloody hell, I wish I could see something."

The sound of the door handle rattling echoed through the tiny room, and Merlin sighed, sitting down and leaning back against the wall. "That won't work. That hasn't worked for the last hour."

"Well I don't see you trying anything," Arthur snapped, and a dull thump followed by a low curse told Merlin that he had probably kicked the door.

"Pretty sure injuring yourself won't help either of us."

"Shut up, Merlin."

*

"How long do you think it will take someone to find us?"

"How should I know?" After three hours, Arthur sounded more resigned than irritated. "Probably not until morning."

Merlin grimaced. They were going to be in _so_ much trouble.

*

"God, I'm starving."

"Uh." Merlin patted his pockets, knowing he had shoved some snacks in them before his meet up with Arthur. "I have a bag of salt and vinegar crisps and an unopened Twix bar."

"…Well, hand it over, then."

Merlin snorted. "You can have half."

"Fine," Arthur sighed.

*

"We could work on our History project?"

"No."

"Play twenty questions?"

"No."

"Sleep?"

" _No_."

"…Make out?"

He'd meant it as a joke, something to shock Arthur into laughing and maybe relaxing a little, but when silence was the only answer he got, Merlin drew in a sharp breath.

"Arthur?"

Arthur cleared his throat. "I, uh. Wouldn't be opposed to it?"

"Wouldn't be opposed," Merlin repeated slowly. "I'm not quite sure how to take that, in all honesty."

Arthur huffed, and Merlin heard him shuffling around before a hand landed on his, fingers fumbling until they curved around his wrist. "Is that a no?"

Merlin swallowed. "No. I mean, yes. Crap, I mean – no, it's not a no."

"So it's a yes, you'd like to make out?" Arthur sounded amused, but Merlin could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

"Yeah," Merlin breathed out, his heart suddenly pounding. "Yeah, I'd like that."

"Oh, thank god," Arthur said, and tugged him closer.

Neither of them could see what they were doing, and Merlin laughed almost giddily when Arthur's nose bumped his cheek. He could feel Arthur grin against his jaw, and then lips pressed against his. It was light and dry, innocent, and Merlin made a soft noise in the back of his throat.

"Brilliant," Arthur murmured against his mouth, and kissed him again.

It was harder this time, more confident, and when Arthur's tongue brushed against Merlin's lips he opened up with another noise echoing through him. Arthur licked his way inside, sweeping his tongue against Merlin's, and the sensation went right to Merlin's dick.

"Wait, wait," Merlin said, pulling away, and Arthur tensed.

"What? You said –"

Merlin snorted, and then scrambled around until he was in Arthur's lap, knees on either side of Arthur's hips. "Better angle," he said, and then dived back in, this kiss deeper and messier than the others.

Arthur groaned, fingers finding their way under the hem of Merlin's shirt. They kissed and kissed, mouths moving together, tongues rubbing in increasingly filthy ways, until Merlin's jaw began to hurt and his lips were so swollen he could barely feel them.

Merlin's cock ached, and he ground down without realizing he was going to, stomach flipping when he felt Arthur's hardness press against his.

"Oh god," Arthur gasped. "Merlin – don't stop –"

Merlin groaned, pressing deeper into the kiss as he rolled his hips over and over again. Arthur was making wrecked little noises beneath him and Merlin swallowed them down. There were too many clothes between them but he didn't want to stop long enough to get them out of the way. He broke the kiss, panting against Arthur's mouth, heat pooling at the base of his spine.

There was no warning before Arthur cried out, arching beneath him, and Merlin whimpered at the realization that he was coming. He rolled his hips a few more times before burying his face against Arthur's neck and shuddering, cock twitching and pulsing as he came.

Neither of them moved, Arthur's fingers trailing up and down Merlin's spine beneath his t-shirt.

Finally, Arthur cleared his throat. "So. We'll be doing that again, right?"

"Definitely."

* * *

**63.**  
 **Option:** metaphorical darkness gone literal via magic  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** CSI-type violence, character death (?)

The detective, the one Merlin's not worked with before and whose name is—Pender? Pentman? Penthouse? Merlin smirks against his camera. That would be fitting.—He flinches at the first flash, is the point. And then even at the second, bursts of light firing across the crime scene like the bullets that had killed their Mrs Smith, who is currently laid out across her living room rug in a rather extensive pool of blood.

"They warned me about you," Pen-whatsit growls. "Point that thing away from me, please and thank you."

Merlin doesn't lift his head from his camera. "Then quit standing right round the body, thank you and please."

"Oh, good, a clever crimescene photographer. Very helpful."

"So I'm told. Now move." The detective glares at him. "Please?" Glares some more. "Your Highness?"

Pen-whatever throws up his hands, but does as requested. When he brushes past Merlin, he's not gentle about it, but instead of feeling put upon, Merlin feels like a spark has jumped into his veins.

He hesitates for a moment, then shrugs and goes back to work.

\---

Merlin's never been sure if it's him or the camera. He got the camera when he was in sixth form, but then his mum died and everything went a bit pear-shaped and he's just never been sure.

He doesn't really care, to be honest. It pays the bills, it's a fun parlour trick, it occasionally even gets him laid.

Speaking of… He hears his latest rumbling around in the kitchen. Toby? Was his name? Merlin is so bad with names. They're so arbitrary, so meaningless.

Faces, though, he never forgets. Shades of grey that show up in his pictures—He pulls one out of the developer, studying it. The victim is a pristine white, surrounded by the usual 'Oi! Dead/dying/nearly dead person here!' halo of red, so he rules out suicide and any sort of wrong-doing on her part. He's not expecting anything else, so he's surprised when his routine examination reveals a framed set of photos on the mantel. The people in it—beside and around the victim—are so dark they nearly explode off the page.

Black sheep, indeed.

Not taking his eyes off the picture, Merlin picks up his mobile and swipes at the screen.

"Pendragon."

"Arthur," he says, voice rough with excitement. That name, somehow, he remembers.

"What."

"I have a lead for you."

\---

But they don't get there in time, and Merlin ends up taking pictures of a teenage boy with half a face and his compatriot in arms with a severe lack of heart—literally—and an absurdly surprised expression.

Arthur promptly leaves to find himself a bottle.

\---

And at the bottom of it, he finds Merlin.

\---

"It wasn't your fault," Merlin murmurs into the hot skin of Arthur's neck. Arthur won't listen, but Merlin says it anyway, says it again, and more, while he fucks into Arthur from behind, because Arthur doesn't want comfort, Arthur just wants the rough slide, the taut muscles and clenched fists, the feeling of Merlin's hand in his hair, at his hips, leaving bruises. Pulling tight.

\---

Afterwards, when he sees Arthur fwumped down on his back, cock limp and satiated, skin glistening and warm, Merlin gets out his camera.

"Is that the same—" Arthur gestures at it, a slightly grim look on his face.

Merlin shrugs. "It does the job, doesn't it? Now shut up and let me photograph your gorgeous self without having to deal with the accompanying personality."

Arthur rolls his eyes, but puts his hand behind his head and stretches out, languid, well-fucked. And Merlin takes far more pictures than he should.

\---

Merlin's in his darkroom the next afternoon when his mobile rings. "Yeah," he says absently, about to put the first of his post-coitus pictures into the last rinse.

"I've found something."

Arthur's voice is so excited, Merlin immediately looks up. "Yeah?" He swishes the print around, wondering—

"Yeah, it's—Oh, shit, Merlin, I—"

"Arthur, what—"

Bullets sound nothing like flashbulbs.

Merlin's phone falls into the rinse with a splash, and Merlin stares down at the print, now fully realised:

Arthur, in Merlin's bed, naked, gorgeous, white as driven snow— and surrounded by a halo of red.

* * *

**64.**  
 **Option:** Light and dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** past character death

When Merlin bent over the sink to wash his face in the basin and saw Freya staring plaintively back up at him, he didn’t scream. At least not loudly.

“Freya,” Merlin gasped, once he had caught his breath. “Are you all right?”

Freya’s pressed her mouth together in an unhappy line. Her watery form rippled. “It’s Arthur,” she said at last.

Merlin gripped the edge of the basin tightly. “Arthur?” he asked shakily. “Is he—is he awake? Is he hurt? Is he—”

“He’s _annoying_.”

—

Avalon let him pass through with barely a ripple. Merlin’s steps were wary as he approached Arthur’s resting place, lingering at the edge of it, not daring to peer inside. He froze as felt a blade pointed at his back, hardly daring to turn around.

“Haven’t learned a thing since you’ve been gone, have you?”

Merlin whirled around. “Arthur!” His voice broke. It was the first time he had said Arthur’s name aloud since—since Arthur had heard him use it. 

Arthur stepped forward, folding Merlin into an embrace and thumping him soundly on the back. “It’s good to see you,” he said.

Merlin held onto Arthur as tightly as he could, just managing to breathe.

“Now,” Arthur said, pulling back. “What took you so long? I’m bored.”

—

Merlin crankily made his way to the king-sized mattress—Arthur had _insisted_ on it based on the name alone—strewn with pillows and flopped down onto it, exhausted. Explaining the world’s history to Arthur had been thrilling. Magically redecorating Avalon to cater to Arthur’s every whim was downright fun. Sampling food from every country that Merlin had visited had been delightful. But Merlin drew the line at further physical violence upon his person. “I didn’t miss sword practice with you _at all_ ,” he said.

“No wonder the world is coming to an end,” Arthur said cheerfully. He sat down next to Merlin on the mattress. “Are there many enemies for me to defeat in the outside world?”

“Er, not really?” Merlin said, rolling over to squint at him.

“Then what am I here for? There’s nothing else to do here.”

“Have you tried wanking?”

Arthur threw a pillow at him.

—

Freya smiled sheepishly at him. “I’m sorry, Merlin, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

Merlin paused in the middle of his rant to stare at the pool of water. He had managed to steal a few moments away from Arthur to seek Freya out. “No! No, you did the right thing in calling me. Arthur’s—he’s, well, you’ve seen what he’s like. He’s like a caged lion here.”

Freya sighed. “I’m not sure what’s happening. He should be able to leave. I should be able to take a physical form. But he can’t, and I can’t.”

“Fantastic,” Merlin muttered. “We’re stuck here forever.”

—

“Where have you _been_?”

Merlin blinked in surprise. “I was just talking to Freya to figure out why you can’t leave the island.”

Something in Arthur’s furious expression broke. He grabbed Merlin by the collar. “Don’t you ever leave me like that again,” he said, and hauled Merlin into a kiss, and another, and then another. “Not after leaving me alone for so long. Never again. Promise me.”

“I didn’t know—I didn’t think—” Merlin said in between kisses as they tumbled onto the mattress.

“ _Promise me_ ,” Arthur said desperately into Merlin’s neck. 

“I promise,” Merlin said. “I missed you. You have no idea how much.” He shivered, feeling every brush of Arthur’s lips against his skin. Arthur was relentless, shoving Merlin’s clothing out of the way. His fingers, warm and strong, reached down to close around Merlin’s cock, stripping it roughly. Merlin shuddered, arching into Arthur’s grip. Arthur face was determined, and he was—he was going to—Merlin’s eyes flashed gold as he pressed coated fingers into Arthur, inside and out, stretching him carefully.

“I do. I remember everything,” Arthur panted. He eased down onto Merlin’s cock, groaning softly. His thighs bracketed Merlin’s hips as he rocked up and down, throwing his head back. “I never forgot. I spent my time thinking of you. Only you.”

Merlin bit back a groan as Arthur increased his rhythm, his thighs trembling with the effort. He reached for Arthur’s cock, curling his fingers around it, slick, and slid his hand all along its length. “We’ll find a way out. Together.”

—

“That’s it?” Arthur demanded incredulously. “We just hold hands and we can pass through?”

“Come on,” Merlin said, tugging on Arthur’s hand and felt Avalon’s whisper of a sigh as he pulled them through to the outside. “The world awaits.”

* * *

**65.**  
 **Option:** Light  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur as Apollo  
 **Warning(s):** Dub-con, Suggested Underage

The young acolyte trembled as he placed the goblet of wine on the stone altar before him. It wasn't much, but it had cost him almost a month's wages.

Reverently, he sank down to his knees, bowing his head as his lips moved silently in prayer. Please. _Please._

The dark temple was drafty and cool and the acolyte shivered, the cold of the stone cutting into his bare legs. But he kept his vigil until his legs had gone numb and his neck ached. 

When he finally lifted his head, the temple was empty. Even the priests had left. He sighed and painstakingly got to his feet, shaking out the pins and needles.

Touching two fingers to the stone altar, he turned to leave. A ringing filled his head and he rubbed at his ears, not paying attention. Then he realized he could clearly see the path in front of him. He gasped, whirling, and threw up a hand against the bright light shining from the stone altar.

"Mortal," the god said, for of course it would be a god, hidden by that blinding light. "What is it that you seek?"

The acolyte fell to his knees again and pressed his forehead against the stone floor. "Your favor." His voice was low, breathless. 

"My favor and a boon."

"Yes. If it pleases my Lord."

"It does." The god sounded amused. "Rise."

The acolyte raised his head and sank back on his knees, keeping his eyes down. "My Lord-"

The god cut him off. "Your name."

"Merlin." Merlin swallowed hard. "Please, my Lord, my mother is very sick."

"And what does this matter to me? I am the God of light." 

Merlin raised his head, startled, his eyes flashing. "And the God of healing."

Apollo narrowed his eyes at him but Merlin refused to lower his own, meeting his gaze.

Apollo was naked, he realized, reclining on the stone altar as if it were the softest bed. He was golden, and shining with that warm golden light, and absolutely beautiful. 

Apollo licked his lips and looked down at Merlin's goblet, tracing the rim with his finger. "And this is your offering?"

"Yes." 

Apollo lifted it to his lips and tasted. "It's not much." His lips were glistening with the red wine, and Merlin felt his anger heat.

"It is all we could afford. Please. I beseech you to help me."

Apollo's eyes flashed. "You beseech me? Interesting. But this sacrifice is not enough. I need more."

Merlin felt the hope leaving him, seeping out like the heat leaving his body and creeping into the stone floor. "More."

"Yes." Apollo sat up and stood before his own altar. Merlin couldn't help but to focus on his cock, nestled in a patch of golden curls, and half hard. Merlin's own cock twitched beneath his tunic. "Tell me, Merlin. Have you ever lain with a woman?"

Merlin licked his lips, his throat dry. "No."

"A man?"

His breath caught. "No. My Lord."

Apollo seemed pleased. "Come here."

Shaky, Merlin stood up and took Apollo's outstretched hand. The god led him to the altar and had him sit on the edge. 

"Pull up your tunic." Merlin flushed, but revealed his now hard cock.

Apollo's pupils were large as he took Merlin in. "Lay back."

Propping himself up on his elbows, Merlin tried to relax, but couldn't help his yelp when Apollo took his cock into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue before beginning to suck.

 _Yes._ The god said in his head. _This sacrifice shall suffice._

Merlin's eyes rolled back in his head as Apollo massaged at his balls, and then further back to the crease of his arse. Sweating, Merlin moaned, and Apollo breached him with a hot finger of light, burning him from the inside out. Merlin came with a shout, spurting his seed into Apollo's waiting mouth.

* * *

**66.**  
 **Option:**  
 **Pairings:** Merlin/Percival  
 **Warnings:** None

He was the new kid at school and heads turned wherever he went. Probably because of his size, he figured, though the girls who tried to catch his eye would argue that. He was kind, but shy, and never said much. Everyone liked Percival though no one could claim to know him well.

What no one realized was Percival had a secret. A painful, horrible secret. He could barely read. Every word was a struggle: letters turned backwards on him, and sometimes upside down. He would stare at a passage and even if he knew what it was supposed to say, he couldn’t quite decipher it. He knew it wasn’t his fault but every day was a misery, especially in Mr. Fitzwilliam’s science class. The technical terms left him floundering and he was too embarrassed to ask for help. 

Then one day someone he’d never seen before slid into the empty chair across from him. Percival couldn’t help but stare. Jet black hair and bright blue eyes, a tentative smile when he noticed Percival looking at him shot straight to Percival’s cock, making him squirm. Merlin’s eyes widened and he knocked his lab book onto the floor. When several of the other students snickered, Percival glared at them. He turned back around, his knees brushing up against Merlin’s again. A sweet shot of heat lingered but Merlin had flinched.

“Sorry.”

Percival leaned his knee against Merlin’s. There wasn’t any hope for it; there simply wasn’t enough room. Merlin stared at him, then slowly nodded. “No worries.” 

Gwaine leaned over. ”Watch out, he’s, you know.” Gwaine flapped his hands and snickered. 

Mr. Fitzwilliams frowned at Gwaine. “Something you’d care to share with the class?”

Gwaine sat back in his chair. “No need, sir.” 

The class laughed until Mr. Fitzwilliams slapped his desk with his ruler. “That will do. Open your manuals.” 

Merlin had slunk down in his chair. Percival nudged him his knee, making Merlin look up. He smiled at him hoping Merlin could see he wasn’t like Gwaine and the others. He knew how it felt to be made fun of, and it wasn’t fair. 

“....due on Monday.”

Percival jerked up in panic. “What’s due?“ 

Merlin leaned toward him. “Paper on the solar eclipse. It happens Saturday.”

A paper? Every muscle clenched in fear. “A paper on the eclipse?” 

Merlin cocked his head. “We could do it together, if you’d like--“

“ _Yes._ ” The quick smile Merlin gave him and the press of his leg against Percival’s blanketed him with calm. 

* * *

“Can I ask you something?” Merlin asked as they sat on a blanket in his backyard the next Saturday. “The other day. What Gwaine said.” Merlin’s face reddened. 

“I don’t care,” Percival blurted out. “I mean... We all have secrets. I do."

"Your reading? I know about that. I don't care, either." Merlin smiled. “Wait, the eclipse is starting. Don’t look straight at it.”

“What are we supposed to do?”

“Take notes. Experience it.”

“How?”

“Like this.” 

Merlin leaned over and kissed Percival. Percival pulled back in surprise but quickly recovered. Before he knew it, twilight was descending over them and he found himself easing Merlin’s hand into his denims. 

Seconds later they tore off their clothes and lay naked, face to face, their note-taking forgotten as Percival slid down Merlin’s body and pulled his cock into his mouth. Merlin bucked and groaned as Percival sucked on him, making him come. 

"I want you to be inside me. Right when it gets dark."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't."

Merlin straddled Percival then, letting Percival guide him onto his cock. Merlin's breath came out in harsh puffs but he encased Percival's length, moaning softly as Percival filled him just as total darkness fell. 

Percival could see nothing, but he could feel: Merlin's hands, the press of his thighs against Percival's, the powerful clench of his inner muscles as he squeezed Percival's cock. Just as the first sliver of light appeared Percival came. Merlin collapsed on top of him and together, still entwined, they watched as the sun slowly reclaimed the sky.

"That was some eclipse, wasn't it?"

***

For the first time in his life, Percival made an A on a paper. And no one ever bothered Merlin again.

* * *

**67.**  
 **Option:** light and dark (mostly dark, to be safe)  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** serial killing

It’s like his ears are blocked, and he can’t hear his breath through the fuzz.

He feels his chest go up and down, though.

Up and down and up and down and up and down and -

“It was her,” he says, and swallows, closes his eyes to see her there. Perhaps more clearly now than she’d been back in the shop. He doesn’t -

“You’re certain?”

Merlin grips the table, looks up. He should be, he thinks.

He knows her hair had been black, long - her eyes light. Was it possible she could come back slightly different? Not like Arthur, who was unchanged and intact. Maybe she’d be someone else. He didn’t - how was he to know the rules? How was he to know she was there at all?

“I -” he says, grip tightening, hands shaking enough that Kilgharrah rattles on his stand. “It could have been.” He wipes the sweat from his lip. “She looked like her.”

It doesn’t feel like enough. Still, Merlin glances out the window, scans the road.

“If the witch is returned - ” Kilgharrah says, drawing his attention back. “If she is returned, Merlin, you cannot fail again.” And that - it presses somewhere bruised and bloodied. Slices like a newly sharpened blade and makes Merlin bare his teeth, knock Kilgharrah into the wall for thinking he’d let her anywhere _near_ him -

***

He crawls into bed behind Arthur when the light of morning sprawls out against the floor and his mind is full and heavy, racing.

“Mm?” Arthur hums, half turning when the bed dips, and Merlin just presses close, gets arms tight around him to feel Arthur breathe.

***

On a Tuesday, on a train platform, he sees her again, a glimpse as the doors are sliding shut. Arthur’s with him this time, and magic gathers hot and flaring in Merlin’s palms.

Kilgharrah says the same thing that night, when Merlin shuts himself in the office while Arthur sleeps, and the same thing again three nights later. And then again.

And again.

And again and again and again.

***

There isn’t a need for it anymore, not one that either of them can see, but Arthur still trains in the back garden, thwacking Excalibur against a dummy he built from an old mop and some firewood.

The blade is clean and gleaming, well cared for when Merlin unwraps it, takes it, and fits it easily between Morgana’s ribs in the night, when he finds her in a park just outside their town.

Her blood is hot, like he remembers, but he doesn’t feel sick this time. Not even when her face changes as he stares at her there on the ground.

He doesn’t feel sick later either, when he wakes Arthur up and goes down on him, holding his legs, his back, his arse.

He only feels grateful. Relieved.

***

When he sees Morgause, he doesn’t even need Kilgharrah.

He takes Excalibur, and he waits, and then he puts her with her sister, and he lets Arthur fuck him good and deep when he’s home, the sort he’ll feel after it’s done, an ache to remind him Arthur’s there to give it.

***

“He’ll live good and long this time,” Kilgharrah says, wooden scales warmed in the sun. “Prophecy is not easily thwarted, and then only by the most direct means.”

Merlin fingers a notch in the dragon’s side, frowns. “No one will take him from me,” he says. “Not now. Not after everything.”

“No one will take him,” Kilgharrah agrees. “You have learned.”

***

It seems to move in cycles. Or perhaps not so predictive a pattern.

Nimueh joins Morgana and Morgause, but then it’s Morgana again and that’s fine. Merlin will watch for all of them for the rest of his life if he has to, because Arthur is happy. Happy, and there for Merlin to teach him wars and language and great novels and how to drive a car. There for Merlin to kiss and hold and fuck, open up on his tongue.

He doesn’t hesitate. He can’t afford it. Not even when Mordred joins the cycle, full grown only half the time.

He won’t fail again. Not ever again.

* * *

**68.**  
 **Option:** Dark, light  & dark.  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** None.

“Merlin?”

Merlin only had time to yell an aborted, “Don’t!” before the door opened, letting a flood of light in. He swore and covered his dark-sensitised eyes, sparing a brief, remorseful thought for the two dozen pictures hanging up that were surely ruined now.

“Christ, I’m sorry.” He heard the door close and the sound of a few footsteps and then Arthur’s voice was behind him, low and apologetic. “I didn’t think you were in here.”

Merlin lowered his hand, blinking spots out of his eyes. “Then why did you open the door?”

“Er. Good point.”

Rolling his eyes seemed somewhat pointless in the darkness, but the situation just called for it. “I’m just glad these weren’t anything special,” he said, drawing the negative he’d been working on from the developing solution and tossing it into the trash.

“I really am sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Merlin said, whatever irritation he’d had at the loss of his photos dissipating with the obvious guilt in Arthur’s tone. “It was more messing around than anything serious.”

He felt rather than heard Arthur’s hesitation as he squeezed up beside him at the tub. There was a pause before Arthur said, almost rushed, “Is there a reason you never let me watch you do this?”

“No?” Merlin said, taken completely aback. “You just never seemed interested. Besides, it’s not exactly riveting to watch.”

He could barely make out Arthur’s crooked smile with what little brightness the safelight provided, but it sent a wave of affection through him anyway. The feeling gained an edge as Arthur sidled behind him, lips brushing against Merlin’s ear as he said, “May I watch?”

He knew Arthur was referring to developing rather than what first popped into his mind, but he could feel his body take an interest regardless. “Knock yourself out.” His pride at the steadiness in his voice was instantly undermined when brushing against Arthur’s arm sent a shiver down his spine that the prat _had_ to have felt. 

Sure enough, Arthur’s smirk was evident in his tone when he said, low and unreasonably dirty, “All right, then?”

“ _Fine_.” He grabbed another photo from the enlarger and slid it into the developer, trying to ignore how warm Arthur was at his back. “They’re probably going to be too foggy from the light, but at least I can show you how it’s done,” he said, and began agitating the tray. 

His mental count stuttered as he felt how each time he shook the tray, he would rock just slightly back into an unyielding Arthur. “Then I rinse it,” he said, and slunk from Arthur’s pseudo-embrace to the sink where he shakily ran water over the paper, trying to regain his equilibrium. Whatever success he had was undone as he slid back to the tubs to put the photo in the stop bath. As he shook the tray again, he felt Arthur press forward slightly, increasing the friction of every small movement. By the time Merlin had gone through the fixer and the hypo clear, he was all but rutting backwards into Arthur’s hips. Their panted breaths had replaced Merlin’s descriptions of the steps, and Merlin barely had time to put the picture under the final rinse before he turned around and jumped Arthur.

“This,” he said between breaths, tearing at Arthur’s belt, “is why I haven’t let you in here before. You’re too distracting.” He cut off Arthur’s laugh with his lips and threw the belt at the door. It clattered loudly as Merlin shoved his hand down the opening in Arthur’s trousers, wrapping it around Arthur’s already-hard cock.

“I thought you were a _professional_ ,” Arthur said, his mockingly calm tone belied by the way his hips bucked as Merlin stroked him with a firm grip.

Merlin withdrew his hand and dropped to his knees, nuzzling at Arthur’s groin, breathing in the musky scent of Arthur’s arousal mixed with the darkroom chemicals. He felt high on the heady combination and grinned when Arthur gave a strangled moan. “We have ten minutes until I have to hang the print,” he said and leaned forward to lick at the head, catching the pre-come with practiced swipes of his tongue. “I’ll show you professional.”

* * *

**69.**  
 **Option:** Light  & Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur, Gwaine/someone  
 **Warning(s):** dub-con

On the first day of his new job, Merlin was, understandably, rather nervous. He must have been working towards this promotion for _centuries_ by now, and although he had met all the prerequisites, nailed the interview, and passed every test with flying colors, he did not feel anything like what one might define as “ready”. Even so, when the day finally came, he woke up, ate breakfast, got dressed in the new uniform, and then promptly descended from the heavens and appeared on the shoulder of his new charge, accompanied by a flash of white light and the sound of a singing church choir. He liked to go by the books.

Unfortunately, someone else had already beaten him there.

“Seriously Gwaine? You are _not_ the sort of guy to pass up a night of sex and booze,” said the attractive man who leaned on his charge’s opposite shoulder. If it hadn’t been for the barbed tail and sharp red horns peeking out of his blond hair, Merlin might have thought the man was human, especially when he was wearing jeans and a t-shirt that made Merlin’s white robes itch like a tux at a super bowl party. “I’m just saying, you have a reputation to keep. If you don’t show, people are going to start to think something’s up.”

“No! Wait! Don’t!” Merlin cut in. This was his job. He could do this. “What would your mother say? Parties can be dangerous! And, um, you might get drunk, which would be—”

“…totally and completely awesome. You deserve to get smashed after a week like this one, am I right?” the demon interrupted. Merlin leaned back and shot him a glare behind Gwaine’s neck, but the blond man only gave him a devious smirk before returning his attention to the matter at hand. “Really, Gwaine. Go have some fun. Enjoy yourself. Get drunk. Get laid. You won’t regret it later — you never do.”

After that, Gwaine’s face took on a resolved expression. Merlin sighed in defeat as his apparently very suggestible charge grabbed his jacket and left his apartment, unknowingly carrying a disgruntled Merlin and a handsome devil along with him.

“I’m Arthur, by the way,” said the demon, flicking his tail the same way someone might wave in greeting. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Merlin,” he replied, sniffing petulantly and adjusting his halo. “Not very pleased to meet you, to be honest.”

Arthur just grinned. “Don’t worry, you will be pretty soon.”

***

Gwaine bought himself some shots the moment he arrived at the bar, despite Merlin’s vain protests. Arthur sat back and watched him with amusement.

“You’re new, aren’t you?” said the demon smugly. When Merlin didn’t reply, he licked his lips (Forked tongue? _Seriously?_ ) and continued. “That’s good, I like fresh meat.”

Merlin froze. “Are you… _flirting?_ With an _angel?_ ”

Arthur waggled his eyebrows.

Heaven was a sheltered place, and so he had absolutely no idea how to respond besides flushing down to the tips of his ears and swallowing uncomfortably. There was absolutely no amount of training that could have prepared him for Arthur.

***

Several hours later, Gwaine was lying on an unfamiliar bed, dead to the world with his arm slung around the woman he’d had messy drunken sex with only minutes before. Overall, the night had been a disaster for Merlin, although he did manage to snag one small victory by getting Gwaine to wear protection. Now he was sitting on Gwaine’s pillow, feeling Arthur’s sultry gaze on his neck and doing everything he could to avoid looking back.

“You know…” said Arthur finally, crawling towards him suggestively. “I could show you things that your little vanilla mind’s never even _dreamed_ of.”

Merlin shuddered. “I-I respectfully decline.”

“Of course you do…” he said in a low voice. “Because that would be _blasphemy_ , wouldn’t it? That’d be _wrong_ , and you’re a good little angel…”

Arthur was close now, far too close, his hand brushing at the hem of Merlin’s robes and trailing up his leg. Merlin couldn’t help but let out a groan, because damn him if Arthur wasn’t gorgeous, with blue eyes and a devilish grin and bronze skin tanned by the fires of hell. When Arthur’s fingertips reached the base of Merlin’s cock and _squeezed_ , all he could do was whimper and writhe, yearning for more. Arthur moved his hand faster, teasing him sinfully until his erection was throbbing and— _Oh God_ , he was going to hell.

Arthur laughed as Merlin finally reached his orgasm, wiping his come on Gwaine’s pillow. “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he said, grinning devilishly. “Blasphemy never felt so good, did it?”

* * *

**70.**  
 **Option:** Dark  
 **Pairing:** Morgana/Merlin  
 **Warnings:** non given

The blade was sharp, finely honed and beautifully crafted. Morgana appreciated fine craftsmanship, and this was some of the finest she'd ever seen. She tested the weight of it in her palm, held it up to the candlelight and admired the detailed carvings along the edge. Whoever had made the weapon had been an artist, for the work was fine and precise, and just looking at it made her blood burn with appreciation. She ran her thumb over the tip, cutting a thin line through the skin, drawing a ruby red drop to the surface. She let the liquid well up and wiped it down Merlin's chest, drawing a line from his Adam's apple to his belly button. 

“That's where I'm going to cut you.” She followed the words with the tip of the knife, letting it glide over his slick skin, but not using enough force to make the words come true. Not quite. Merlin held his breath, his chest neither rising or falling, but his pulse raced. She stared at for a few moments, enraptured by the sight. It was so strange how the heart raced when clutched by fear. Some animals slowed their hearts when frightened—made themselves harder to hear. But the blood would pour out the same either way. 

“Oh, Merlin, it didn't have to be this way. I don't know why you have to be so stubborn. We can put an end to all of it right now.” 

Merlin stared at her with murderous hatred simmering in his eyes. Morgana laughed. With the collar around his neck, he was powerless, unable to summon even a flicker of magic. She knew why he kept his silence. He thought he was protecting Arthur, but how well could he protect his prince if he was dead? She had pointed that out to him earlier, but the time for logical discourse had long passed. Clearly, Merlin had no intention of being logical about any of this. Even though he knew full well what she was capable of. 

She stepped to the side, allowing him a full view of what had once been the most feared and respected knights of the kingdom. Gwaine had it easiest. She sliced his throat from ear to ear with her beautiful blade. Despite the thinness of the cut, he'd bled out quick. Quick enough that he hadn't heard Leon beg for his life, practically crying like a woman. He had tried, in vain, to appeal to her sentimental side. Morgana had no sentiment left, though, and she had demonstrated that fact by cutting out his tongue and shoving it down Elyan's throat. Elyan had lived the longest of the knights, but that was only because she had saved Gwen for nearly last. 

Now there was only Merlin left. The blood of the fallen mingled and flooded over the stone floor, nearly reaching his feet. His toes dangled inches above it, his arms stretched in chains high above his head. 

“Since you're not going to tell me what I want to hear...” 

She snapped her fingers and an instant later, rawhide string threaded through his lips, holding his mouth closed. She didn't want to hear him scream. She'd heard enough screams that night, and she still had so many thousands more to hear. The subjects of Camelot would scream and scream more days and nights and months. She planned to make it last. Planned to destroy the entire kingdom one person at a time, until she sat on a throne made of bones and ruled over the silent plain of red. 

She would savor those screams. In the meantime, she wanted to watch Merlin struggle. In his dying moments, she wanted to see him fight to make a noise, a single sound of protest. Morgana danced around the room, feeling elated. Feeling _young_ again, like when she was a girl and Uther had spoiled her with gifts and affection, stroking her hair and smiling at her with sweet indulgence. He would have been proud of his girl, had he lived long enough to see the tortures she'd devised for the disloyal ones. Unfortunately, she was forced to begin with him, sneaking into his chambers as he had once snuck into hers. Shoving a sword into his backside, gently like he had once pushed into her, working the blade deeper and deeper into his guts. His bed had been painted in crimson and brown and tears but he died without crying out.

* * *

**71.**  
 **Option:** Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** None

Merlin still wsn't entirely used to the split sleep the court adhered to during the winter months. During his first year as Arthur's manservant he barely managed to stumble out of bed, never mind do anything useful. 

He was better at it now. Well. He was used to it, at least. By the time he'd shivered his way down to the kitchens to grab the wine to heat up he was mostly awake. His mind wasn't working at full speed, but he could speak full sentences, which he felt was an achievement. 

The castle was quiet. The servants were the only people walking about the castle, and they barely made a sound. Even the guards seemed to melt into the darkness. 

“Sire,” he whispered as he walked through Arthur's door. It felt wrong, talking at normal volume. The world was still and it seemed wrong to disturb it. Arthur had lit one candle, and the fire was low, casting long shadows.

“Merlin,” Arthur muttered. Merlin shut the door behind him and blinked until his eyes got used to the darkness. Arthur was a huddled lump in the bed. “Don't just stand there.” 

Merlin nodded. He set the wine down next to the fire so it could warm, then walked to Arthur's side. Arthur rolled over as Merlin approached. Merlin stepped to one side until the fire could reach Arthur's face, illuminating Arthur's sleep-soft features. 

Athur huffed again and opened one eye. Merlin rolled his eyes in return. He tugged off his boots nd socks, and slipped off his shirt. He shuddered as the cold air hit his skin, then slipped into bed next to Arthur. Merlin pushed his magic out and untied the bed curtains until darkness fell around them. 

“Still not used to that,” Arthur said as he pulled away. “Useful though.” 

Merlin could barely breathe around the tightness in his chest. Arthur's words, although not unheard of were like a balm to Merlin's nerves, a reassurance that Merlin didn't realise he needed. Merlin reached out blindly until his hands hit warm skin. 

Merlin shifted closer, and Arthur swore as Merlin planted his cold feet on Arthur's shins. 

“You arse.” 

“It's cold. Thought you ought to know.” 

“You could've stayed in bed.”

“And miss out on the wine? Nah,” Merlin said, sliding closer. Arthur's skin was hot against his own, and Merlin swallowed a groan as Arthur plastered himself along his side. 

“Bet your hands are cold too.” 

Merlin cupped Arthur's arse, grinning as Arthur gasped. 

Arthur rolled over on top of Merlin. Merlin archeed up, whimpering. He could imagine the smug grin Arthur had on his face. 

“Evil,” Merlin muttered. 

“I could stop,” Arthur said, pushing up with his arms until there was an unacceptable amount of space between Merlin and Arthur's body. 

“Nope,” Merlin said, tugging Arthur back down. Merlin ended up kissing Arthur's nose first, and huffed a laugh. They moved and found each other's lips. Arthur made a happy noise into Merlin's mouth, biting at Merlin's lower lip. 

“I think these are in the way,” Arthur said, pushing his hips into Merlin's, the evidence of his interest clear.

“Yes, yes. Let's take them off,” Merlin said. 

“Brilliant idea.” 

“I get them occasionally,” Merlin replied. Arthur seemed too busy taking off his trousers to answer. Merlin followed suit and stripped off the last of his clothing.

“Oh, yes,” Arthur sid as their erections pressed against each other, making Merlin shudder.

Arthur grinned and slid his body against Merlin's, making him writhe. Arthur didn't stop moving until he was resting at Merlin's hip. Merlin took in a deep breath and looked down. He couldn't see much, just making out the gold of Arthur's hair bent over his hips. 

Arthur's tongue was almost burning hot against his erection, soft and wet as Arthur licked at the head of Merlin's cock. 

Merlin clung to the bedsheets as Arthur's mouth took him apart. Arthur moaned around him, like Merlin was the best thing he'd tasted. Merlin lifted his head, blinked to try to focus on Arthur in the dark. Arthur removed his mouth and Merlin could just make out Arthur's grin. Merlin smiled weakly and let his head fall back, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Arthur, Arthur,” Merlin said, urgently as he came, muscles clenching as he spilled into Arthur's mouth.He fumbled his hands until they found Arthur's shoulders. He tugged at Arthur until their mouths met, Merlin groaning at the bitter taste of Arthur's mouth. 

“My turn,” Arthur muttered.

* * *

**72.**  
 **Option:** Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** torture, blood, serial killers 

“Ssshhh,” Arthur pressed his fingers to his victim’s lips. Or what would have been their lips if the duct tape wasn’t covering them. The pleas that were escaping were starting to grate on his nerves. “You were doing so well, don’t ruin it all now.” He let his hand trail down the man’s side, checking the rope that held the body tied down to the board, making sure the man’s struggles hadn’t loosened it.

He preferred not to take chances.

Pleased to find the ropes secure, Arthur patted the thigh nearest him and went back to his table of tools, grabbing the scalpel he had been using. He brought it over to the sink that was kept in the corner of the basement and turned the water. He watched as the blood washed down the drain and checked the clock on the wall.

It was almost time. 

The muffled cries had quieted down into a small whimper and Arthur enjoyed the near silence while it lasted. Between his work at the hospital and his work in the basement true silence was rare.

“Is this for me?” there was awe in that familiar voice and Arthur turned to see Merlin coming down the steps. His pack was slung at his side, heavy with the books from his classes and one of the seams on the side coming undone. Arthur would look into getting him a new one, if he left it up to Merlin he’d use it till it feel apart. 

Merlin’s eyes moved from Arthur to the overweight man Arthur had tied down and carved up on the table.

He had made sure to lay down a tarp so the blood would be easier to clean up. Practice had shown him it would be easier in the long run. 

There was no doubt the man was dying, would be dead in a matter of hours. He had been steadily bleeding out from the cuts Arthur had left across his body since Arthur had grabbed him this morning. None of them were deep or vicious enough to kill him quickly, but they would be incredibly painful. Med school had given Arthur the skills needed to create a masterpiece and to keep that masterpiece ready for it’s true artist. 

Merlin came to stand beside Arthur his bag forgotten on the ground; his eyes followed the path of the cuts. “Arthur,” Merlin turned to him, his voice breaking and Arthur knew he had found the right gift. 

Merlin had had finals that week and had been stressed and jumpy. Today was his last test and Arthur had wanted to do something special to reward him.

“Do you like it?” Merlin threw himself at Arthur, capturing his mouth in a harsh kiss, his arms winding around his neck. Arthur pulling him in closer, tangling a hand in his hair as he tilted his head back to suck at his throat, the scalpel was still in his hand and Merlin’s breath caught as it touched his skin.

“Thank you.” Merlin whispered his smile bright, exhaustion almost gone from his eyes. It was being replaced with the anticipation of what was to come. 

Arthur pressed the scalpel into Merlin’s hand. “I know you’ve missed it.” He moved behind Merlin, circling his hands around his waist and walking him forward towards the table. “If you want I’ll even let you take the tape off his mouth, I know you love to hear them.”

As he talked he worked on unsnapping the button on Merlin’s trousers, pushing them down off his hips. Merlin stepped out of them never leaving the circle of Arthur’s arms as they came to stand beside the table. Arthur wrapped a hand around Merlin’s cock as Merlin trailed the scalpel down the man’s forearm, tearing a ragged red line through his skin. With his other hand he reached forward to tear the tape off his mouth, the screams echoing off the wall as Arthur bit into Merlin’s shoulder.

Merlin was hard in his hand as Arthur worked him, watching as Merlin painted on the canvas Arthur had given him.

Arthur pressed a kiss into Merlin’s neck, the blood warm against their skin.

* * *

**73.**  
 **Option:** Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Gwen/Arthur, Gwen/Lancelot  
 **Warning(s):** Noncon due to mind control

Arthur's hands cup Gwen's breasts and she shivers. He thinks it's pleasure, and why shouldn't he? But she isn't so sure.

If she could only _remember_. She tries but the memories slide away, slippery, elusive. Others tangle around her, and she wants to forget them but she can't.

~

Lance contorted into an awkward position as they tangled in the back of his car, his hands under her skirt, her wetness dripping down her thighs.

~

"Did you have a good time today?" Arthur thumbs her nipple with one hand and slides the other down her belly, following the trail Lance blazed before him. He slides his fingers through her folds and she knows even before he groans. She's wet, soaked, dripping. She wants him.

She thinks she does. She can't be sure, because her mind rebels.

_No, it wasn’t, I didn't want to. I can't remember…_

~

A fire had kindled deep in her belly when she'd taken Lance's hand. She glanced at him and knew he felt it, too. They held on to each other, hurrying to the parking lot, to Lance's car, where they'd tumbled into the backseat together and Gwen had thought, _No, I don't want to, Arthur, what about Arthur,_ even as she'd wrestled Lance's shirt over his head.

~

Arthur's fingers are blunt and insistent inside her. She writhes on them, groaning. She bites on the curve of his neck, the same place where she left a mark on Lance's, and shame burns through her, makes her gasp and drive her hips against Arthur's hand, oh God, makes her _wetter_.

~

Something was wrong. She'd thought _Stop, Gwen_ , but her body moved as though under someone else's direction. She'd thought, _You don't want this_ , but when she'd guided him into her, it had been the best thing she'd ever felt.

~

Arthur bears her onto her back in the middle of their bed, and it's a relief. There's space here, more than enough room to spread out. It's not the cramped back of Lance's car in the middle of the carnival parking lot, it's not her kneeling over him, driving onto him, beating against the walls of her mind shouting, _No, no, no,_ even as she wondered how it was possible to be so close already, if she really didn't want this after all.

~

It's so hard to think, memory is a slippery thing, but before the fire, before the fire there'd been the carnival, funnel cakes and games of chance, stuffed animal prizes and a tent with a sign propped outside. _Madam Zola the Hypnotist! Discover your Inner Desires!_

Gwen laughed, and Lance wheedled, and Gwen said, "Fine, but the only inner desire I've got right now is for a corn dog, and I could tell you that for free."

~

"God, you're so hot for me," Arthur laughs into their kiss as he fucks her and she pants against her mouth. "You're my little whore, aren't you?"

He calls her that in bed sometimes, because she likes it. Because it makes her shiver and blush and moan as he moves inside her. Tonight it drives her wild, fingers clawing down his back because she is and he doesn't even know. She's a whore and she's his, she's his, she's _his_.

~

"Lovers?" Zola asked, eyeing the ring on Gwen's finger, still new enough that she found herself playing with it in idle moments.

"Exes," Lance had said.

" _Friends_ ," Gwen had insisted, kicking him under the table.

Zola had smiled and taken their money.

And then…

then…

then she was sitting back, saying their time was up, but Gwen couldn't remember where it had gone. "I didn't cluck like a chicken, did I?" she'd joked to cover her unease.

"No." Zola smiled, and then she'd said something else, something Gwen couldn't remember, something that might have been, _Not yet._

~

She hadn't wanted Lance, but that had been hard to remember as she'd keened beneath him. She didn't want it, but she liked it, she _loved_ it. He'd grabbed her thighs like Arthur grabs them now, pulled her down harder as Arthur bends her to find a better angle. Arthur kisses her like Lance kissed her, hard, demanding as she shatters apart beneath him, as she'd shattered apart beneath Lance, clenching tight around him. She'd come harder with him than she ever had before.

And now, with Arthur, with the dual assault of him inside her and the memory of Lance buried there just hours before, she comes even harder.

* * *

**74.**  
 **Option:** Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Mordred  
 **Warning(s):** Consensual hate sex

The Druids taught him about balance, and he listened. They spoke of things in pairs – light and dark, fire and ice, hatred and love – and he believed them. He thought he understood.

Then they said there was too much darkness in him. When he grew violent – and Mordred remembers it very well, the anger rising inside him like a flood, washing away everything in its path – they said he couldn’t stay anymore, that he was dangerous.

Oh, he understood that, too. He doesn’t resent them for abandoning him. He’s used to betrayal.

That’s why he’s not surprised when he sees Emrys in his chambers, standing half-hidden, obscured by shadows, only the dull yellow gleam of his eyes betraying his presence—

No, Mordred thinks. It’s Emrys. I would know him anywhere.

He closes the door carefully behind him and strips of his armour, feeling the heavy weight of Emrys’s gaze. 

“Have you come to kill me?” he asks.

“Yes,” Emrys says.

“May I ask why?”

It’s pure courtesy, because he doesn’t have to. Still, the heavy, oppressive silence unnerves him, and no answer is forthcoming. He takes a few steps forward.

“You want me dead. You can’t keep dodging it forever.”

He’s standing in Emrys’s space and it’s—thrilling. It’s not at all like being next to Morgana, whose power is like a dark pool of hatred and malice where he remembered a cool, bright spring; no, Emrys is _glowing_ , like the sun itself. He wonders how is it possible that no-one ever noticed.

“I don’t want you dead,” Emrys says. “But I can’t let you—“

“Kill Arthur?”

He had expected violence but Emrys still catches him off-guard. His hands slam into Mordred’s chest and push him towards the nearest wall, knocking the breath out of him. His face is inches from Mordred’s own, eyes wild and blazing, betraying the burning flame of magic that dances right under his skin.

“I should have done it years ago,” he seethes.

“But you didn’t,” Mordred says. He struggles to move under the press of Emrys’s body and magic alike, but he—

Emrys is stronger. More powerful. His magic has an outlet, a purpose; Emrys has someone to protect.

“I don’t want to kill him,” he says, voice turning into a hoarse whisper. “I saw it in a dream, over and over, but I don’t want it to happen. I don’t—“

Emrys releases him, and he feels—bereft. Without the painfully tight grip Mordred has nothing to focus on, except the cold dark look in Emrys’s eyes.

It’s his own hand this time, reaching out to fist itself in the coarse fabric of Emrys’s shirt. He remembers when, all those years ago, he thought that man meant safety.

“Do you believe me?”

“No.”

The answer is short, and who would think the King’s charming manservant could be cruel?

Still the urge to seek warmth wins. Mordred moves closer, until he can bask in the glow of Emrys’s magic and breathe in the scent of his skin.

“I wish things had been different,” he says, wistful.

“You yourself said you will never forgive me.”

The ghost of a smile creeps onto his face.

“I didn’t,” he says, because it’s true; but because nothing in Mordred’s life has ever been straightforward, and he can apparently think only in dichotomies, he kisses Emrys.

Which is not as surprising as the fact that Emrys kisses him back.

His lips are insistent and his hands even more so. Mordred manages to wrestle him down onto his bed but is quickly toppled over, Emrys once again holding him down, except this time it feels wonderful.

“I can’t figure you out,” Emrys murmurs into his skin. He undresses himself swiftly, his naked body solid and muscled. 

He has long, clever fingers. Mordred hisses sharply when they draw out his cock, their movements sure and steady, bringing him to full hardness.

It’s not his first time. He shouldn’t be—

He’s overwhelmed by the sight of Emrys leaning back, preparing himself with some oil that he procured form who knows where, his face flushed deep red and his cock sticking out. Mordred has little choice but to follow his lead, help Emrys position himself over Mordred’s hips and then watch him sink down.

His senses are assaulted—the heat and pressure around his cock; the sight of Emrys’s head thrown back and his body a long, straight line, hips moving sinuously; his soft, tiny gasps and the slap of skin, the creaking of bed; and the scent of magic crackling in the air, like the air after a storm.

 _They can’t see him like that_ , Mordred thinks wildly, climaxing. _They don’t know this side of him. The dark, ugly parts – they are all mine._

* * *

**83.**  
 **Option:** Light and Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Morgana/Morgana  
 **Warning(s):** Selfcest

She felt so lonely lately. So cold. No matter how much she had improved her skills, how many people she’d been waking up for the fight against Camelot, Morgana was alone. Agravaine had long ago perished, and Aithusa wasn’t enough. There was _something_ she needed, more than war or Arthur’s head. Her body _yearned_ , her heart ached. There was a barrier she’d built with the world, blocking her from living. 

She shook herself and stood up, pressing those feelings aside to do as she may. Cooking potions, learning spells—that’s all she did now, in that space between moment and time, when seconds took ages to pass and she felt as if the sun would never set. She ran her hands through her face, the sudden need creeping through her veins again with such force she lost her breath. When she opened them again, it was to see someone sitting on her bed. 

Her heart quickened as she realized who it was. There, with a beautiful, silky dress, exactly like the one she used to wear, looking so out of place it was ridiculous. Hope still shone through her eyes, her hair was beautifully smooth and radiant; she looked so full of kindness and love Morgana’s insides twitched. She looked at the person she’d once been, when she still had no idea of the power she held and the way the world worked. Her doppelganger smiled, a beautiful, incandescent thing that wrapped her like a blanket and tugged at her chest. She found herself walking in her direction, her own green eyes encouraging her to do so, until Morgana’s hand reached the replica of her own cheek and she _felt_ the softness, the sweetness, the _heat_ ; how alive she was, how real. A doubt answered by itself. 

The other Morgana ducked her head, allowing the gesture. She took Morgana’s free hand and dragged her on until she was sitting beside her on the bed, her thighs pressing against the other, so simple and so _intimate_ Morgana’s heart ached with relief. Her eyes were locked into her own, her hands were brushing against her cheek, she was being caressed by her own fingers, being laid down by the same soft hands that belonged to a Queen; such tenderness, such adoration for something so broken as her. 

They locked their lips, sealing something Morgana couldn’t understand. A chaste kiss that kept growing and growing until her hands were tangled in the soft, raven hair, and her own garments were tore off by that sweet angel. The other Morgana cupped her breasts with her hands and massaged them, pinching at the nipples and making Morgana hiss. Her doppelganger smiled coyly, only to crouch down and circle her tongue around her tits, sucking, lapping, _biting_ —Morgana closed her eyes and surrendered at her younger self, letting her do what she wanted with her. Letting her tap her fingers on her clitoris and rub and rub and rub until she screamed and pushed her off her. 

They exchanged a wordless conversation, both grinning and restless. Morgana lifted her body to meet hers, circling her arms around her and kissing her soundly, licking at her teeth and pushing her down onto the mattress. She didn’t miss her counterpart’s eyes as she tentatively licked at her pussy, flicking her tongue over the clitoris and her vagina. Her younger self moaned, rolling her hips around her face, asking for more. 

She soon found herself eating her up, unable to resist the sounds she made, the moist and her own taste. It was fascinating, unravelling things to herself, pleasuring her body as she should. 

A rush of power coursed through her when the other Morgana cried out her ecstasy. She crawled on top of her, forcing her to taste herself on her lips and rewarding herself for the beautiful sight she offered. She wasn’t sure of what had happened, if her magic had had something to do with it, but it didn’t matter. As her lips met her own breasts again, Morgana figured she didn’t mind.


	4. Group D (Warnings)

**75.**  
 **Option:** Light  & Dark  
 **Pairing:** Arthur/Morgana  
 **Warnings:** Incest, the use of pink

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/cdBj3qd.jpg)

* * *

**76.**  
 **Option:** Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/multiple unknown males  
 **Warning(s):** Consent is intended, but image could be also interpreted as dub/non-con.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/u0niniX.jpg)

* * *

**77.**  
 **Option:**  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** none

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/VXQY3Oc.jpg)

* * *

**78.**  
 **Option:** Light  & Dark  
 **Character(s):** Morgana, Aithusa  
 **Warning(s):** Bondage

**The Dark Witch & the Light Dragon**

_The Dark Witch and the Light Dragon will fetch a good price,_ thinks the slave trader.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/RZ5quJg.jpg)

* * *

**79.**  
 **Option:** Dark &Light  
 **Pairing(s):** Mordred/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** non-con because of magic stuff

You light the darkness in me.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/svzVimI.jpg)

* * *

**80.**  
 **Option:** Light and Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** None

Fair as Day, Dark as Night

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/1KOsmFN.jpg)

* * *

**81.**  
 **Option:** Light  & Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** None

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/BjjlfxA.jpg)

* * *

**82.**  
 **Option:** Light and Dark  
 **Pairing(s):** Merlin  & Dark!Merlin / Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** dub-con

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/5zULGnd.png)


	5. Group A (No Warnings)

**1.**  
Light /laIt/ Something that makes vision possible.

Dark /da:rk/ The absence of light.

Because I could not stop for Death,  
He kindly stopped for me,  
The carriage held but just ourselves  
And Immortality.

The carriage did roll slow at first,  
Beasts plodding two by two,  
Through fields and cities both alike,  
We admired all the views.

My hands grew old then young again,  
But like some folly con,  
Death would not let me take my leave,  
And so we traveled on.

Through days and years we journeyed,  
Each one blurring with the next,  
And with each passing milestone,  
I found I grew more vexed.

Because the world kept turning,  
And slowly they forgot,  
Though time ticked by horribly,  
I found that I could not.

Your scent was just as potent,  
As the day we said goodbye,  
When you asked for me to hold you,  
And I raged up to the sky.

I begged the gods to keep you,  
For we hadn't had our time,  
But none of them did hear,  
When I whispered you were mine.

Our first encounter was quite rough,  
A fight for all two see,  
But through the brawl I learned the fate,  
Of our twined destinies.

It took us years of heated looks,  
Before the dam did break,  
But once it did it broke for good,  
My heart was yours to take.

I still recall your hands on mine,  
Using mine to cup your face,  
And then you'd quickly pull me close,  
Into your tight embrace.

Our first time together,  
Was not your first at all,  
But you held my hand so tenderly,  
And led me down the hall.

You stripped me bare in silence,  
Fingers ghosting down my skin,  
But when you joined me on the bed,  
I relished in our sin.

You led me through our passion,  
And though you were the King,  
When I pressed inside of you,  
I felt my body sing.

We thought we'd last forever,  
And for me that might be true,  
But now my love you've gone from me,  
And that will just not do.

Death grew complacent with me there,  
And judged me as a friend,  
He did not see the plan I had,  
Which lead to his own end.

For death can only see the now,  
Not the past or depth of grief,  
So I cut his time as reaper short,  
And slid over in his seat.

I started changes slowly,  
Nothing really to take note,  
But nothing seemed to call you back,  
And in earnest I did smote.

The thing they called the first world war,  
Did nothing to rouse your form,  
And as they battled more and more,  
I began to truly mourn.

For I knew these little skirmishes,  
Would never be enough,  
The world needed something stronger,  
To raise you from the dust.

And so began the hurricanes,  
Sweeping chaos across the land,  
I re-arranged the continents,  
With a single wave of hand.

I dripped fire down the mountainside,  
Dragged leviathans from the sea,  
But through this all you slumbered on,  
And never returned to me.

And so this world must finally end,  
They have one last meal to dine,  
Because the world does not deserve its sun,  
When it has stolen mine.

* * *

**2.**

Hundreds of years spent in solitude had changed Merlin. It doesn’t take long for Arthur to realize, after the immeasurable joy and relief of his dearest friend being the first sight that greets his newly awoken eyes. Tears had immediately flooded Merlin’s eyes, and as Arthur reached for him it seemed it had been both ages and no time at all since the days he’d told him ‘No man is worth your tears.’

Hours later, they sit around a familiar campfire, though Merlin says thousands of years have passed since the time of Camelot.

“There used to be great cities, with towering buildings made of metal,” Merlin tells him. “But then the wars started, and the bombs fell.”

Arthur can see the ways Merlin’s changed. Just in his mannerisms and even his words, the way he talks about so much death in a way his old self couldn’t have fathomed. Still, it makes Arthur love him no less.

“Now the survivors just live in ruins where the radiation’s not too bad, and where they can find supplies.”

“Why haven’t you joined any of them?”

Merlin just gives a bitter smile, his gaze lost in the fire. “I’ve had enough of the people in this age, who never learn from their mistakes. There’s no one like you anymore.”

“What, no prats?”

Finally, Merlin’s smile appears – though dimmed. “No, there are plenty of those. It’s all the good qualities that have gone from the world.”

Without Merlin’s ever-resilient smile, his optimism and bright inner strength that had often revived Arthur when all appeared lost, this new world seemed like a dark place indeed.

~~

“There’s something wrong with my magic,” Merlin tells him later, as the fire begins to die out. “About a hundred years ago, it’s like it was infected, poisoned by all the radiation and death in the world… Sometimes I can’t control it anymore.”

Arthur nods towards the embers of the fire. “Try it.”

Merlin takes a deep breath before closing his eyes. Arthur watches as a tiny bit of flame parts from the kindling to float above Merlin’s fingers. 

But then Merlin’s eyes open. 

Though Arthur hadn’t often seen Merlin’s eyes glow gold when he used to do magic, Arthur can tell something’s very wrong when Merlin’s eyes blaze black instead, and the tiny flame sputters before darkening. 

“Merlin!” Merlin shakes his head at Arthur’s sharp call, the flame disappearing as his eyes turn blue again. Merlin just stares for a long moment, before taking a shuddering breath and curling in, wrapping his arms around himself. 

“Even my magic is all wrong now.” 

At his broken voice, Arthur moves to him instinctively. He wraps Merlin in his arms and draws him close. Merlin immediately clings to him, after so many years of having nothing to hold onto. 

“I haven’t forgotten how you stayed by my side, how you tried to save me,” Arthur murmurs to him. “Now it’s my turn to look after you.”

“A king caring for his lowly servant?” 

“You did say this world’s become a rather ghastly place.” 

Merlin manages a smile, and Arthur kisses his brow. If this is his purpose for returning, Arthur curses fate for not calling him sooner.

~

Arthur wakes to the sound of screaming. Thunder crashes around them and the wind howls, and Merlin’s thrashing on the ground beside him. 

“Merlin!” Arthur reaches to lift and hold him, trying to calm the spasms wracking his thin body. Merlin’s eyes fly open, and his pupils are solid black.

“Merlin,” Arthur leans close over the roaring wind. “You’re not alone, I’m here now. I’ll always be here, and we’re going to save this world.” Clutching Merlin tightly, Arthur rests their foreheads together. “You haven’t failed, Merlin. You’ve done everything for humanity. You deserve peace.”

Arthur seals his lips to Merlin’s and holds on. He fits his body over Merlin’s even as Merlin’s unbridled power rages. Arthur holds him, rocking his body against him, and pulls his clothes aside for his lips to find every bit of Merlin’s skin, washing away the centuries of hopelessness that had tried to claim him.

As the wind quiets and Merlin’s mind returns with his golden eyes, he can only comprehend the tender heat of Arthur. He hides his face against Arthur’s strength as the grief and solitude finally begin to bleed out. The sky will be that much clearer when it’s over. 

Merlin holds on, somehow knowing tomorrow will be brighter, with Arthur as his light.

* * *

**3.**

When Arthur woke up it was still dark outside. He turned his head to look at the clock and saw it had just passed four in the morning. Then he felt the reason for his sudden awakening.

Merlin’s hand was inside his pants and stroking his cock to a thick hardness. His pretty little fingers were like sparkling alabaster in the moonlight that shone in through the window.

Arthur grunted drowsily. Merlin glanced up at him and saw he was awake. He had that naughty glint in his eye that he always got when he wanted to play. 

“Merlin,” Arthur said gently, like he might hurt Merlin’s feelings if he spoke to curtly. “What are you doing?”

Merlin looked up with an apologetic expression. “I can’t sleep, Daddy.”

Arthur sighed and stroked Merlin’s hair. “Daddy has to go to work in the morning.”

Merlin’s lips pouted as he licked a thin stripe up Arthur’s cock. “Please?”

“Alright, but just this once.”

Merlin perked up instantly with a wide smile and set straight to mouthing the hard length in his hand. Arthur let his head fall back to the pillow and just bask in the pleasure of Merlin’s mouth. Merlin’s hungry sounds of appreciation were like a lullaby.

“Daddy?”

Arthur blinked his eyes open and stared bleary-eyed down his body to where Merlin lay between his thighs. “Yes, Merlin?”

“I…I’ll be tired faster if you fuck me.”

Arthur rubbed his eyes. “Merlin, I don’t have the concentration right now to—“

“No, no! I haven’t been able to get to sleep the past few nights, so I…” Merlin lowered his eyes and hesitated to continue with a blush.

“ _Merlin_ ,” Arthur said disapprovingly. “Did you go to bed with a plug in your arse tonight?”

Merlin bit his lip and nodded, still not looking up.

“Alright,” Arthur exhaled. “Get a condom from the drawer then.”

Merlin’s pout deepened.

“Now what is it?”

Merlin traced idle patterns on Arthur’s thigh with the tip of his finger. “I want to feel you, Daddy.”

Arthur’s heart skipped. He nodded vigorously and Merlin’s face lit up again. He raised up and quickly straddled Arthur’s prone body. He reached behind him and pulled out the plug, gasping when it brushed against his prostate. Arthur was just awake enough to remember they ought to use lube but with another glance down at his cock he saw it already shining in the moonlight. Ah, that’s right. Merlin already got him nice and wet with his mouth.

Merlin whimpered with the stretch. Arthur was much larger than the plug. He rubbed Merlin’s thighs soothingly.

And then Arthur was there, buried balls-deep in Merlin with no layer in between. He was wide awake now, though his body was still heavy with sleep. He gave an experimental thrust and Merlin inhaled sharply. That seemed to be all the encouragement Merlin needed because then he took over, lifting and lowering himself in slow, smooth motions. 

He seemed wrecked already, eyes shut and voice hoarse with lust. “Oh Daddy you feel so good,” he moaned.

“Yeah, yeah,” Arthur panted, his hands tightening around Merlin’s bouncing hips. “Faster, Merlin. Daddy wants to come so hard for you tonight.”

Merlin sped up, clenching his arse around Arthur’s cock and sliding down with enough force to make the mattress dip beneath their combined weight. His hard cock slapped a steady rhythm against Arthur’s belly on each downward repetition.

Arthur could tell Merlin was close when his fingernails began digging into his chest. He took one hand from where it was anchored on Merlin’s arse and wrapped strong fingers around Merlin’s cock, stroking just as brutally fast as Merlin rode him.

Merlin cried out in pleasure. “Oh, yes Daddy, _yes_!” Within the next few strokes he was coming over Arthur’s hand onto his stomach.

“Ah, ah, Merlin,” Arthur gasped as his body tensed and he erupted inside of Merlin.

“Mm, yeah, fill me up Daddy,” Merlin urged with a slow roll of his hips. Arthur was sure it was Merlin’s words alone that wrung another pulse of come out of him.

When Arthur’s muscles relaxed and Merlin was satisfied Arthur had finished, he raised off and reached for a towel on the side of the bed. Arthur felt his eyelids drooping as Merlin wiped their bodies clean.

“I love you, Arthur,” Merlin whispered against Arthur’s lips just as Arthur was drifting asleep.

“Mmph,” Arthur grunted tiredly. “Just remember that tomorrow’s my turn.”

* * *

**4.**

“Luke would be cooler as a dark Jedi.” 

“No. You’re missing the whole point of it, Merlin.” Arthur gestured with his beer for emphasis. “His father went dark, his _father_ , and the whole series is about whether or not Luke is going to follow suit. The fact that he resists in spite of the draw of the dark side is testimony to his character. Character is far more important than being _cool_.” 

Merlin’s eyes narrowed skeptically behind his rimmed glasses. With his legs crossed on the settee, knees grazing Arthur’s thigh, he looked like some sort of nerd guru. Arthur held his breath. He’d been trying to get Merlin over to his flat for ages, but the bloody idiot had resisted until Arthur had discovered—with the help of his PA—Merlin’s obsession. 

“Did you rehearse that?” Merlin asked. 

“No, absolutely not.” _Yes_. 

“But you’ve never seemed interested in the trilogy until this week.” 

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Merlin.” Arthur leaned closer. “I’m a very deep person.” 

Merlin’s cheeks pinked all the way round to his ears, and he started peeling his beer label with abandon. Arthur took the opportunity to move closer still. Maybe finally, after months of bickering (Merlin always started it), chasing (Arthur couldn’t help himself), and sexual tension so thick that the rest of the office was taking bets—maybe, please god, something was about to happen. 

“Merlin,” Arthur’s voice grew soft as he focused on Merlin’s crotch. “Does the idea of Luke going to the dark side turn you on?” 

“That’s ridiculous.” 

“I think it does. I think you get a bit horny thinking about it. Can I play with your light saber?” Arthur grinned. There was no way Merlin could deny the bulge straining against the fly of his tight jeans. Arthur was just about to lean in for the kiss he’d long desired when Merlin set down his beer, removed his glasses, and pushed Arthur flat on his back so that Merlin was straddling his thighs. Arthur gaped up at him. The bottle fell from his hand.

“You’re a menace to society,” Merlin said. “You goddamn smart arse.”

“I’ve always been told my arse is rather nice.” 

“Shut up. For once, just shut up.” Merlin leaned down and took Arthur’s mouth. The effect was shocking and immediate. Arthur hardened when Merlin’s tongue slipped along his, and he grabbed Merlin’s arse to pull him closer as the kiss lit his spine from the inside out. The rigid length of Merlin’s cock rubbed against Arthur while warm, sinewy muscles bunched under his hands. 

“You think I’m just some virginal geek, don’t you?” Merlin whispered against Arthur’s ear. “There’s no way you can handle _me_ , Pendragon. You have no fucking idea who I am.” 

“Do I get to find out?” Arthur sucked the skin just under Merlin’s jaw, licking at the stubble there. Merlin stilled on top of him, and for a moment Arthur worried he’d mucked it up somehow, but then . . . 

His balls tightened, and heat flared from his belly to his knees. The orgasm hit with a force that he’d never experienced before and couldn’t control. His cock shot thick pulses of come into his trousers, and Merlin rode his thigh and kissed him deeply with his velvet tongue. 

“Merlin.” He could barely speak, stomach muscles quivering as his body melted into the sofa. Though he was fully clothed, it felt like a thousand wet mouths sucked and licked every secret place on his skin. And when he thought it was over, when his balls ached from emptying their load, he came again, clutching Merlin as pleasure rolled over him in hot, beating waves. 

“You’re going to make me come. Fuck, I wish I was inside of you,” Merlin said. And then he groaned and arched, and his eyes turned a luminous gold. Arthur felt something breach him: a thick, hard cock. It couldn’t be. But Merlin snapped his hips again and drove deeper, and the phantom cock made Arthur’s eyes roll back in his head. 

He came a third time, weakly, his body reacting to the power within, all around—the Force. 

Maybe he said that out loud. Merlin looked down at him, still fucking. 

“It’s not the Force, you idiot. It’s my magic. I got a little carried away.” His voice was strained.

“Magic . . . is real?” It certainly felt real. And bloody brilliant. 

Merlin smirked. “You’ve got a lot to learn, young Padawan.”

* * *

**5.**

Gwen first met Morgana at a party celebrating the opening of the new sculpture garden two years previous. She was hired to photograph the event – essentially the board of directors and donors congratulating themselves. She gravitated toward Morgana in the crowd, her dark hair taking on different tones in the waning sunlight. Her pencil dress was a monochromatic dream: soft white fabric with black lace panelling on the sides, following the curves of her body. The sight of her was overwhelming and Gwen couldn’t trust herself to hold a conversation with her.

Their second meeting was a few months later and also a party, this time at Arthur and Merlin’s house celebrating their engagement. Though this was not a high society event, Morgana was still immaculate. She seemed more comfortable here – smiling and laughing with the other guests, taking the time to tease Arthur about how soon he fell head-over-heels for Merlin. In this atmosphere it was easy to approach her.

*

Since then they have been to many parties, formal and otherwise, been to movies and coffee shops and art galleries displaying Gwen’s work. They’ve been together for over a year, but there are still aspects of Morgana’s past that are kept hidden from Gwen and even, she suspects, from Morgana herself. She can see the evidence in Morgana’s eyes when she first wakes up in the morning – before the soft kisses and gentle touches, the orgasms building for so long – she looks frightened and surprised, as if she dreamed Gwen had left her and for a moment thought it was true. She can see it at night too, when they’re not concerned with being careful and they just take each other, frantic and rough. Morgana looks desperate then, like this could be the last time she has Gwen in her arms. The last time she will be loved.

*

In this digital age, Gwen prefers film. She feels more connected to the subject when she’s in the darkroom, her own hands working to slowly reveal the image.

Gwen has taken Morgana’s photograph nearly every day they’ve been together. There are the laughing candids, the thoughtful gazes, the ones of Morgana sleeping. All glimpses into Morgana, but none as honest as the ones she’s taking now.

They’re in the bedroom, but the furniture has been pushed aside. There’s a cream sheet hanging from the closet doors, billowing to pool on the floor below. Morgana stands there naked, hair falling in waves around her shoulders. She watches as Gwen moves about the room checking lighting placement and making final adjustments.  
Finally she stands facing Morgana, a slight smile on her lips, trying to be reassuring. It’s incredibly brave what Morgana’s doing – not only is she displaying her body, she’s displaying her soul. Gwen can see all her hopes and fears, her desires and doubts, written all over her face and in her posture. It’s not just the lack of clothing, but Morgana looks more naked with honesty than she’s ever been.

* * *

**6.**

**Once Upon a Time**

He remembered a time when it wasn’t like this. A time that seemed a lifetime ago. Before he became _this_. But this was what the cards held for him- or the stones, he thought miserably.

That’s not to say he regretted what he’d helped build, Camelot was a glorious place. Albion united and at peace. Arthur, a great and benevolent king, whom the people loved. And he was Merlin, the great warlock and Arthur’s most trusted advisor. 

But that was the trouble, he wasn’t Merlin, at least not the Merlin he once was, the Merlin they all knew before Destiny got in the way.

He remembered a time when the smiles came easily and true. A time when things were easy, where all he had to do was try to keep Arthur’s rooms tidy, his armour clean and mended, and the prat of a prince alive, while hiding his magic and his emotions. He thought it would get better when Lance and the others became welcome fixtures at the castle.

Lance had known about him and it wasn’t long before Gwaine knew, as well. But somehow that only made things harder. Merlin wasn’t fool enough to blame anyone but himself for that. The more people knew about him the more alone he felt, the more he felt he had to protect them from the choices that had to be made, the more he lost himself to the weight of those decisions; the more the smiling young man he was became a façade. He didn’t need a crystal to tell him that had been madness at best, more hubris if he was honest, though he didn’t know it at the time.

Now he was buried under the weight of it. All the choices and repercussions, they fell on him like layers of shroud covering him until only a vaguely familiar shape remained, and the truth beneath it all nothing more than a ghost. 

There had been peace for over a year now, every night of which he spent huddled against the castle’s highest parapet, the dark blue cloak Arthur had given him years ago, not long after he’d become king, when he was still nothing more than Arthur’s loyal servant and friend, wrapped tightly around him, it’s soft midnight wool soaking up the tears he silently shed.

He had his own rooms, as elegant as Arthur’s ever were, but he seldom slept there. In truth he seldom slept, when he did he dreamt of Arthur and of a time when they could simply be Arthur and Merlin even if only behind closed doors. In the darkness of night he’d let himself imagine what it would be like for Arthur to find him, the shrouded remnants of the man he once was, and he’d dream that Arthur would somehow dig through the layers and years and pain to reach the Merlin that was buried there. He hoped tonight would be one of those nights, he always felt drained after them, but for a few minutes, maybe an hour, he got to have the world he wanted. He hoped for more, of course, but having Arthur’s arms wrapped around him, trailing kisses along his body as he moved lower and lower, leaving wet paths in his wake, touching and claiming, burning his ownership into his body as he moved inside him filling him with so much more than his body and his seed all seemed too much to even dream. “Oh, Arthur,” a pained sound murmured into the icy air.

“I’ve waited, you know.”

The words filtered softly to Merlin. 

“Every night, since we retook the castle. Even before you told me.” Arthur slid down the wall next to his warlock. “I’ve waited every day now that it’s over. I waited. I thought that was what you wanted. But you never came. But you came here. Every night.” He reached out seeking Merlin’s hand, lacing their fingers together. “I’m tired of waiting.”

Merlin stared at their hands. How could he? Arthur had no idea of the things he’d done, the choices he’d had to make. Merlin felt fingers tighten around his.

“You’d be surprised.”

“What?” Merlin mouthed, brow furrowing in confusion.

“The things you had to do, the choices you question every day.” His tone was all too knowing.

Merlin didn’t think he’d said those things out loud, but he must have. He stared at Arthur for undeterminable minutes. “Tell me,” he whispered.

* * *

**7.**

"Lights out!"

Merlin's stomach sank. Now was the moment he'd dreaded since walking down the line to his new home for the next five to ten. He'd been tormented by the brigade that picked him up about how a sweet morsel like him would get eaten alive by the Knights inside. When they'd swung open the cell door to reveal his new roommate as the biggest one of the bunch, he'd almost forgotten about the implants that would cripple him if he dared to use his magic to defend himself.

His cellmate's name was Percival. He hadn't uttered a word in the eleven hours since the door locked shut behind Merlin.

And now the cell was pitch black.

The lower bed creaked. Merlin froze.

"You in for magic?"

Percival's voice was a soft rumble, thunder in the far distance. Though he was terrified, it sent a cascade of shivers across Merlin's skin.

"Yeah."

"You got the look."

True, unfortunately. Half the reason he'd been picked up, in spite of Uther Pendragon's promises.

The bunk shifted. The next moment, a broad hand clamped around his throat.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Percival said. "This is just so you don't scream."

"You mean, while you rape me?"

The mattress bowed. The next time Percival spoke, his warm breath came from inches away, his voice barely audible. "I don't do that."

"That's not what the guards say."

"The guards want you scared. So you won't notice how you scare the shit out of them."

Merlin snorted. "Yeah, I'm so terrifying."

"You have magic."

"What good is it with this implant?"

"You'll find out. In here, we're all on the same side, but only if you play along."

Considering he was trapped in place, what choice did he have? But the more Percival spoke, the more seductive he became, whittling Merlin's fear into curiosity. "What're you talking about?" He matched Percival's volume.

"Guards expect me to break you. We put on a show for them, they'll be satisfied."

"What kind of show?"

"Sex show. They like to think I tear apart the boys they keep dropping in here."

"What do we have to do?"

He hadn't finished speaking when Percival hauled him off the bed. Merlin slammed against the wall, Percival's naked body pinning him in place. The long, thick weight of Percival's erect cock rested between their torsos.

A shout of protest bubbled up, shut off by the clamp of Percival's hand over his mouth. He felt like he was suffocating.

"Motion sensors in the floor and walls," Percival murmured in Merlin's ear. "Just has to feel like fucking to them."

It felt like fucking to Merlin, too, as Percival began to rock against his body. The Knight was carved from stone, obliterating any other sensation. He surrounded Merlin's slimmer frame, forcing Merlin to hold on, and the constant hot huffs of breath against his neck blurred rational responses. He coiled his legs around Percival's hips and whimpered when the next slide grated along his trapped balls, his prick hardening at the constant friction.

Percival dropped both hands to cup Merlin's ass and hoist him closer.

"Fuck," he muttered. "Didn't expect you to feel so good."

Merlin didn't know if that was part of the act for the guards, but at this point, it didn't even feel like a game anymore.

"You couldn't do this outside," he taunted, loud enough for anyone to hear. "I'd tear you apart before you could lay a finger on me."

Percival caught on quick. "Stupid bitch. My finger's not what I had in mind."

"Feels like a finger to me."

A sharp hiss, followed by harder rubs of flesh to flesh. "Let's hear you say that when you're choking on it."

The dirty talk went on, each word a new bite across his now heated skin. When Merlin buried his face in Percival's neck to suck hard at the sweaty sinew, Percival shoved his hand into Merlin's pants to fist his aching cock. Two pulls, and he was shooting all over both of them.

Percival came with a grunt a few seconds later.

Neither moved. All Merlin heard was Percival's ragged breathing.

"That enough?" Merlin whispered.

"More than."

Maybe for now but not for always. Because tomorrow, he was finding out what Percival meant about being on the same side. And if Percival had to pretend to fuck him every night until he did, well, that was just a bonus, now wasn't it?

* * *

**8.**

He never came to him during the day.

He never approached him, he never smiled, he never gave any sign that he was willing to give Mordred a chance to redeem himself for whatever Merlin thought he'd done wrong. 

No, Merlin waited until he was covered by darkness; he sneaked through the halls when they were empty, sneaked quietly, sneaked in. 

And Mordred let him in. Always. 

He listened for the soft footsteps after he'd gone to bed and tried to ignore the tinge of excitement as they finally neared his chambers, followed by a knock on the door. He didn't answer, he didn't really have to. Merlin opened the door tentatively and peeked in, finally entering with Mordred's encouraging nod. He closed the door carefully and stood by it,  as if unsure of his welcome. 

Mordred wasn't sure whom he pitied more - Merlin or himself. 

"Come here", he said softly as he pushed the sheets off himself. He didn't have to ask twice. Merlin strode towards him, shrugging his jacket off on the way. By the bed, he got out of his boots and sat astride Mordred, his fingers gripping Mordred's shoulders tightly. 

He offered a little smile and Mordred felt a familiar dull ache in his chest as he raised himself on his elbows and they shared their first kiss for the night. They didn't speak a much. They didn't speak _at all_ - except for the occasional half-coherent grunt or broken bits of the other's name. 

They hadn't discussed any of this - how they shared those moments most nights of their weeks, how they found that the pieces of their broken selves fit the other's, how they _needed_ each other. They told themselves that they didn't have to. Mordred thought he'd be more willing to talk than Merlin would, so he kept everything to himself and accepted all Merlin had to give him. 

Tonight Merlin had to give him his hands - fingers in Mordred's hair, on his arms, on his thighs, on his cock. Mordred's breath hitched and he arched up with a moan as Merlin finally slid against him, bare, gotten rid of their clothes. One hand in Mordred's hair, the other  gripping both their cocks firmly and tugging steadily, Merlin met Mordred's gaze. Mordred knew that look in his eyes far too well and nodded in consent, laying down again and letting Merlin move up and straddle his chest. He took Merlin's cock in his mouth and relaxed, relishing the shaky groan that slipped past Merlin's lips. Soon all he could do was grip Merlin's thighs and let him use his mouth, knowing he'd be done before the strain became unbearable. 

What he didn't expect was Merlin to reach back and grab Mordred's cock, pulling in the same rhythm as he fucked his mouth. Mordred moaned around the staff in his mouth and Merlin echoed him, then he laughed; he pulled back and jacked himself off, gathering half of his come in his hand and letting the rest slip through his fingers and onto Mordred's chest. He moved further back and gripped Mordred again, slick hand moving easily and bringing him off quickly. Mordred fucked his hand through it, biting his lips and breathing heavily through his nose as to not make any noise. 

He never stayed with him during the night. 

He never turned back, never said good night, never gave any sign that this - that _Mordred_ was to him something more than just a shag; he wouldn't let himself admit it. 

Never. Until now. 

His hand froze mid-air before he pushed the door handle and he turned around, taking a deep breath. In a heartbeat - a very loud, excited heartbeat - he was by Mordred's bed again, leaning down and pressing a firm kiss to Mordred's lips. 

"I'm sorry," he whispered against them, pressing another small kiss before retreating. 

"About?"

Merlin shrugged. _Everything._

Mordred offered a tentative smile and Merlin returned it, letting hope glimmer somewhere in Mordred's heart. 

Maybe. Maybe what they had would finally see the day. 

* * *

**9.**

It’s been years since Arthur banished him from Camelot. _Years_. Years where Merlin was forced to live like a shadow, unable to use his magic in fear of retribution from those serving the King. Uther’s death turned Arthur away from magic forever, and though Merlin had only ever used his powers for Arthur’s gain -- to protect him, save him, love him -- he had been turned away. Some say he’d been lucky to escape the King’s clutches with his life, but Merlin has long felt that death would have been the kinder punishment.

Those who knew him before and have seen him since -- Gwaine, Lancelot, even his own mother -- all claim that the exile has changed him, turned him into something different. But people change, Merlin thinks, it’s only natural to realise how the world really works as you get older. Few people keep seeing the world as they did when they were young.

He certainly doesn’t.

Even Kilgharrah turned on him, eventually. Maybe it was because he failed his destiny as he was forced to leave Camelot, or maybe it was his decision to burn a whole village down in the hunt for the man who had stolen his innocence and hope.

The Great Dragon had reluctantly done it, unable to refuse a dragonlord’s command. The agonized screams of the dying still ring in Merlin’s ears sometimes. It fills him with anger, disgust, and a kind of ruthless satisfaction. Then, the screams always turn into a single scream, desperate and anguished. Merlin shudders involuntarily at the memory of rough hands on him, in him, the weight of a body on top of him... 

He remembers his own tears, his screams for his assailant to stop. That it hurts, that he isn’t-- 

But the man hadn’t. He’d only laughed and fucked him harder, pinning Merlin’s hands above his head, easily keeping him there despite his attempts to escape. The man’s knight’s cape had laid neatly folded right next to them and Merlin can still see it when he closes his eyes. He can see the red, the gold of the dragon... can smell the dampness of it. _That’s_ the kind of people the King protects and who protect the King.

Merlin’s tears had taken a long time to dry afterwards. But they’re dry now, and he knows who ultimately is going to be punished for what happened that night.

He glances towards the fireplace, revels in his catch. It took months of planning and searching and scheming to get to him, but now he’s here. The King -- the King of Light as his subjects foolishly call him -- is finally at Merlin’s mercy. The people of Camelot don’t know what he is, what kind of monsters he protects and what kind of monsters he calls noble.

There’s no nobility in a name alone. Merlin knows that, has always known that.

But Arthur... Arthur needs to learn.

Arthur, the man he used to love... who featured in Merlin’s wank fantasies long after he’d been exiled. It’s nearly impossible not to find him attractive. Merlin doesn’t even try. The King is the epitome of beauty with his broad chest and lean, toned arm muscles, narrow hips and gorgeous thighs. Merlin takes a few extra moments to undress him, let his fingers run over the relaxed muscles, kiss his lips, nibble at his jaw, lick his cock... to finally taste him; taste the light.

It -- he -- tastes like soil, but it still makes Merlin hard.

He strings Arthur up, ties his hands over his head with chains attached to the ceiling, uses his magic to strengthen the bonds. There will be no escaping. Merlin will be in control and Merlin will punish the King for as long as he wants. And he wants. He wants _so bad_.

When Arthur grunts, it takes a few more minutes before he wakes up. But if it’s one thing Merlin has learnt by his years in exile, it’s patience, so he waits. Arthur’s head finally snaps up, eyes unfocussed at first but soon, they’re once again alert. First, he realises he’s bound. Then, he notices Merlin.

“Mer-- Merlin?” he says, voice raspy. Uncertain.

“’King of Light’,” Merlin says quietly, slowly circling his naked prisoner. “That is what they call you, isn’t it?”

He roughly grabs Arthur’s chin between his fingers, holds him steady. Gently, he then places a kiss on the chapped lips.

“Well, if that’s true, _my King_... I am the Dark that has come to devour you.”

* * *

**10.**

A moonless night, with clouds thick enough to block the stars. Only the sound of the ocean tells them which way is water, which way land. Sand gives under their feet, first soft and dry, then packed wet. Their laughter echoes like a game of _marco polo_ , hands wandering, grasping at any piece of each other they can find.

Someone catches Bronwen's wrist, and she laughs, startled, the sound bubbling up through her throat. Forridel laughs back.

Nimueh stops them at the edge of the water, tiny waves running over their feet and retreating. The darkness is absolute, welcoming. Bronwen is the most relaxed she's felt in years. Here in the dark, she could say anything, do anything.

To her right, Helen starts to hum, natural as breathing, and Bronwen joins in, letting the sound flow out of her and settle into the rhythm of the waves. Someone is fiddling with the buckets, probably Mary with her industrial-size lighter and dozen boxes of contraband.

There's the sound of ripping cardboard, and then someone presses a stick into Bronwen's hand. She finds the smooth end and grips tight.

The first flare of light is like the beginning of the world, a flash in pure darkness. Blinded briefly, she blinks away the afterimages. The lighter is gone now, and only Mithian's hand is visible in the green light her sparkler spits off.

"Come on," Mithian urges, and they press forward, each taking a piece of light from hers, tiny flares and sparks in half a dozen colors, illuminating hands and flashes of faces. Morgana dances with one in each hand, spinning around Gwen, and Sefa binds back Elena's hair so she it won't catch fire. Vivian has begun writing in the air in red and gold, while Morgause is making some kind of arcane shapes that linger longer than they should.

When the sparkler burns down to Bronwen's fingers, she finds a bucket with her toes and drops it carefully into the wet sand inside. Mary puts another in her hand within moments.

For hours, they dance in the dark, their tiny dripping sparks the only light reflected on the sea. Helen sings, and Bronwen follows gamely after. Later, Freya tells a breathless story about a mermaid that doesn't seem to have an ending, but trails off into the gentle darkness.

Eventually, Forridel's fingers slip back around Bronwen's wrist and tug lightly. The group is beginning to spread out, most of the sparklers burned up. One or two people have turned on red-light flashlights. It's still very dark, though, when they stumble back away from the ocean, over the dry sand and the rough grass, stopping once to pull a burr from Forridel's foot, and then they're barefoot on the rough wooden stairs, taking them to the second floor porch.

They climb through an open window, fighting curtains. Bronwen smells Hunith's distinctive patchouli scent, so she pulls them down the hall to the room she shares with Sophia, and tugs Forridel onto the bottom bunk.

"We've got sandy feet," Forridel whispers. 

Somehow that's ridiculously funny in this moment, so Bronwen wraps both arms around her and laughs, deep and happy. After a moment, Forridel joins in, running her sandy foot up Bronwen's leg.

Bronwen's laugh catches in her throat.

Everything is touch in the dark. Forridel's smile against her cheek is soft with a hint of teeth. Without light, Bronwen feels brave enough to slide her hand up Forridel's side, dragging her shirt up until Bronwen can spread a hand on the soft skin of her side, feeling the shape of Forridel's back as it twists to bring her lips down to Bronwen's shoulder, nipping through her shirt.

They twist slowly, clothing pulled away piece by piece, lips and fingertips and bumping noses as they learn each other's bodies by touch. Forridel's nails scratch lightly up the inside of Bronwen's thighs. With a sigh, Bronwen opens, letting Forridel slide up and tease her with one finger, then gently press in two. Bronwen's so wet she's dripping, so sensitive that the pressure of Forridel's palm against her clit is almost too much already, but she rides it, urges Forridel to mouth at her nipples as she bends her knees and rocks until the world bursts into tight, sparking light.

When she comes down, she's humming softly as she gathers Forridel close. Through the window, the sky's just beginning to lighten in the east, but together they pretend it's still perfectly dark

* * *

**11.**

Freedom

Arthur closed his eyes and tried to relax. He knew the room was just dimly lit even though a blindfold kept him from checking. And since his hands were bound with a soft black silk scarf and tied to the headboard, he couldn’t even attempt to lift the blindfold to peek. He wouldn’t have done so anyway. He knew that the game would be over immediately. 

For a while, he’d heard Merlin rummage in the background, probably preparing all the things he needed for tonight. But then the door had opened and closed and then there was nothing but silence. Arthur’s heart was beating wildly. Merlin wouldn’t leave him here like that, would he? All by himself, unable to move. Okay, he could move his legs, but he had been ordered not to. So he wouldn’t. He tugged at the scarf that held his wrists above his head and even though it was soft, it didn’t give. 

Arthur felt fear prickling in his neck. What if Merlin didn’t come back? What if he just left him here, bound, half-hard and with a butt pug up his arse? Just as panic tried to take over, the door opened but Merlin didn’t say a word. 

Arthur sucked in a breath when he felt something touching him. What was this? It…damn, that tickled!

“Shhh.” What came as a whisper was actually a command. Arthur knew he only had to make one sound and it was over. But he didn’t want it to be over, so he bit his lower lip and shivered when the ‘something’ – which seemed to be a peacock feather – was dragged along his body. He felt his nipples harden and his cock spring back to full attention. Damn, Merlin knew he was ticklish!

Squirming a bit, Arthur sucked his belly in when the feather touched him. This was torture. But he craved more! When the feather was lifted, Arthur arched his back, trying to make contact again.

All he got for this was a little slap on the belly. “Greedy little slut.”

He almost smiled. The words were insulting, but the tone of voice was too affectionate for that. Merlin enjoyed the show he gave him.

The feather was back on him in no time, teasing his inner thighs, making him spread them further. He wanted to feel the feather everywhere. It tickled, yes, but it also sent shivers through him like never before. Merlin…he needed him. 

Arthur almost yelled out when the feather touched his cock, sliding along the hardness, getting messy and sliding back down to his balls, but could hold it back in the last second. Not a word, Merlin had said. 

The feather was gone and Arthur felt Merlin’s hand slapping lightly against his hip. The sign to turn over. But instead of untying his hands, or at least removing the scarf from the headboard, Merlin let him work for it. So he scrambled around until he was on his elbows and knees, his forehead leaning against his bound wrists, his arse up in the air. He knew Merlin liked him that way and smiled when he heard a little appreciative sound. 

Then the feather was on his back, sliding down his spine and he arched and tried to move against Merlin, but a sharp slap on his butt made him stop the action. Once again he bit back a gasp when the touch of the feather contrasted with the sting that Merlin’s fingers had left. 

Arthur felt himself drifting off even more. For once, he didn’t need to think, didn’t need to be in control. Someone else was doing that for him. It wasn’t even his to decide when or if he would come. Freedom!

The tickling touch that had reached his arse was gone and the butt plug removed quickly. A low whine escaped Arthur’s throat, but the emptiness was replaced with a long hard cock and the sounds he made turned into low moans. 

As Merlin pounded into him, his hands gripping Arthur’s hips so tightly that it would leave marks, Arthur floated. He didn’t care about the marks or that he would be so sore that he would ache for days. His whole world came down to Merlin’s cock pushing into his spot again and again. 

“Now.”

Just a little word, almost whispered, but that was his sign. Arthur yelled out, came hard and then his world went black.

* * *

**12.**

“Hi, I hope I’m not interrupting,” Merlin says, smiling at Arthur.

“Not really.”

“Great. Awesome. So… Gwen told me you helped her set up her chandelier and didn’t even get electrocuted in the process, and she told me you seemed like you really knew what you were doing, and…”

“Can you get to the point?”

“Yeah, sure,” Merlin stammers out. “The light bulb in my lamp burst and I changed it, but it doesn’t light up when I try to turn it on.”

 

~x~

 

“My doorbell refuses to ring.”

 

~x~

 

“I think I broke the fairy lights.”

 

~x~

 

“The light in the kitchen makes this weird buzzing noise.”

“Seriously, I know this house is pretty old, but your flat must be cursed or something,” Arthur says, locking the door to his flat behind himself before following Merlin.

“Yeah, well...”

 

~x~ 

 

“It started to do that sound here too,” Merlin calls out from the bathroom.

Arthur joins him, glaring at the ceiling light as if it offends him. 

“Get me a chair, could you?”

 

~x~

 

He studies it for a while before tapping at it gently. That’s when the lights go out completely.

“What the fuck?” he curses, getting off the chair.

He bumps into Merlin in the total darkness.

“Fuses, maybe?” Merlin says, holding onto his wrist.

“Maybe,” Arthur says with a nod.

He lets Merlin guide him towards the main door. A second later, he trips over something and, unable to keep his balance, tumbles to the ground, bringing Merlin down too. He would swear there was nothing this big to trip over when he came into the flat.

“Ouch,” he yelps when one of Merlin’s limbs smacks him over his head.

“Sorry,” Merlin says and stills under Arthur.

“You’re a magnet for trouble,” Arthur utters, kneeling up.

Merlin obviously tries to do the same and ends up with his butt pressed to Arthur’s crotch. Arthur leans back on instinct, and Merlin’s body follows his motion. Somehow he manages to slump into Arthur’s lap. Arthur catches him before he can shift any more, his hand wrapped around Merlin’s waist. Merlin’s breath hitches.

“You planned this, haven’t you? You planned every single one of those 'malfunctions'.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Merlin says, trying to pull away.

“I’m not done with you yet,” Arthur says, tightening his grip.

He smirks when he feels Merlin melt into the embrace. He’s not one to push away such a blatant offering, especially when he spent many a night fantasizing about Merlin’s distractingly gorgeous body.

“Let’s see what we have here,” he whispers into Merlin’s ear and guides his hand lower, over Merlin’s cock which is hardening rapidly, trapped inside his jeans. “Well, well, well… aren’t you a naughty boy?” he murmurs, rubbing his own concealed erection against Merlin’s arse.

“Fuck,” Merlin utters, covering Arthur’s hand with his own and pressing harder over his cock.

“What was your plan then? Just a bit of ‘accidental’ groping? Or did you go further? Mutual handjobs? Or a blowjob? Your mouth would look so good stretched around my cock.”

“Arthur,” Merlin breathes out, his hips jerking forward.

“Do you know what I want?” Arthur says, trailing his lips alongside Merlin’s neck.

“Anything, Arthur, just… fuck…”

“Congratulation, Merlin. You guessed right,” Arthur says, slowly unzipping Merlin’s jeans. “I’m going to bend you over right here, finger you until you’re begging me to let you come and then I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll see stars.”

~x~

 

Arthur is a man of his word. Setting a relentless rhythm, he pounds into Merlin, his hand on Merlin’s shoulder, holding him down. He’s sure Merlin will have some interesting carpet burns. 

A few more hard thrusts and Arthur is tumbling over the edge. He doesn’t pull out, grips Merlin’s cock and starts stroking it. Merlin’s moans are getting louder and he’s tensing up. He comes with a sharp cry, his channel spasming around Arthur’s softening cock. The lights flicker in and out madly for a few seconds, before the room succumbs to darkness once more.

“Merlin, you sneaky little bastard,” Arthur says after a few moments of stunned silence.

He pulls out and turns Merlin onto his back. He lunges for a bruising kiss, cutting off Merlin’s panicked sputtering.

* * *

**13.**

Merlin thought that after the first fifty-odd years, he’d put away the grief and the anger that plagued him after Arthur's death. 

He was right about the grief. It came in fits and starts, a sadness that occasionally fell over him like a shroud, but it was no longer the same mind-numbing pain of the bereaved. And eventually, he coped. 

It wasn’t until he saw Mordred reborn later that the anger came back, white and blinding. Wanting to take. Snuff out. His magic, so much a part of him, grew restless, strained under his skin. Thirsty and— _waiting_.

The first time was always the most difficult, he’d muse later.

***

“‘Morning, Merlin,” Arthur says to him, smiling. The sun’s rays catch on his flaxen hair and it lights up like a halo. _A sun god_ , Merlin thinks faintly.

“Good morning,” he says. 

This Arthur is different. His first encounter with him hadn’t been... prattish. Rather formal. They work on the same floor and take the same smoke breaks. See? His Arthur wouldn’t have come within ten metres of a cigarette. _Ruins your lungs_ , he’d say in that snotty voice.

Arthur takes an interest in him, he can tell. It’s in the way his eyes focus on him when he speaks, two points of blue that excite and unnerve him; the way they dip to his lips and linger, filling him with a warmth that stays, sticky like treacle.

They go out for lunch. Chicken and avocado sandwiches washed down with watery coffee, so bad that Arthur makes a face. “Cat piss,” he says in that posh accent. Merlin laughs. Oh, it’s a wonder to hear him swear.

Then it’s drinks at the pub with some mates from work, and the way Arthur casually places an arm on the seat behind Merlin makes his heart race, even after so many years. _You’re such a girl_ , he thinks to himself. It sounds like Arthur’s voice.

Two weeks later, Merlin asks him up to his flat.

***

“Oh fuck, you’re so lovely,” Arthur says, holding Merlin’s face in his hands and kissing him for the first time. It’s elbows everywhere and Arthur trips over some uneven flooring, nearly taking Merlin down with him. They stop, pull apart. Burst into peals of laughter, pleasantly loose from the pub’s cheap beer.

“Bedroom,” Merlin says, and tugs at Arthur’s wrist until they reach the bed, then fall onto each other, taking the wind out of him. 

He rubs his cock against Arthur’s groin, already hard, and fumbles to unzip both their trousers. Arthur doesn’t help much, moaning and frotting. His hands are under Merlin’s shirt, warm on his skin. Flesh to flesh. 

Merlin _thinks_ , and his magic helps, getting their trou off in record time. He laughs, giddy with it. His magic and Arthur in the same space. It’s been a long time since Camelot that this feels so ordinary. Strange. But the lust is the same as it was then—all-consuming, burning within the pit of his belly as Arthur grips his cock, tight, and pulls and pulls.

“I won’t last.” And then a gasp and he’s coming, spilling onto Arthur’s chest, everywhere. Arthur’s rubbing on his thigh and moaning into the curve of his shoulder still, and Merlin reaches down to fist his cock until he spurts into the mess between them.

***

Their relationship is five months old when Mordred arrives, a crack in their perfect life together.

He’s the new intern working with Arthur. Young, fresh-faced. Looks up to Arthur, and in turn Arthur guides him the best he can.

Merlin admits he’s jealous, and it stings that even in _this_ life, they get along. He grits his teeth and tries to ignore the simmering anger that the presence of Mordred always causes. It’s worse since Arthur is here.

Arthur’s in danger, he tells himself. Mordred is no good. Same as the very first one. A traitor, beneath those guileless eyes and the face that barely even needs shaving.

It’s easy to off him, then dump him in a rubbish dump. His magic removes all the fingerprints. He’s planning to go home to Arthur, cuddle and watch bad telly. 

But Arthur is behind him when he turns around.

* * *

**14.**

That first day, when you swaggered up to me and demanded, “Do I know you?”, I noticed the light.

It was behind you as you strode toward me, the morning sun shining on your stupid blond hair, and that stupid aggressive smile, and you looked like some sort of golden god.

I hated you as soon as you opened your mouth, of course.

But in the hours I spent lying on the cold stone floor of the dungeons, the first of many visits there chargeable to your account, I remembered the light of challenge in your eyes, and I wanted you.

Still hated you, though.

When you fought Valiant and defeated him, I saw you raise your sword to acknowledge the cheers of the crowd, and I saw relief and pride and humility playing across your face, and for the first time I understood what made you tick.

You were made to defend and uphold Camelot, not just by accident of birth, but with your body and your soul and your heart.  
I knew then that you would die for Camelot without a moment’s regret.

That night, I couldn’t sleep, even though I was exhausted. I kept replaying the fight with Valiant, and the way your sword flashed in the light. 

When you faced your challenge at the Labyrinth of Gedref, it was so bright as we sat at the table by the water. The light hurt my eyes, but I was more dazzled by your willingness to die for me.

We were friends by then, and when we came back we became more than friends.

I worshipped your body in sunlight and moonlight and candlelight and the light of a campfire when we slept rough. And your beauty shone in all of them.

 

I think my favorite times were the rare mornings in your chambers when I woke up before you did. When you woke up first, you were always so eager, touching me and pulling me on top of you even when I was half-asleep and protesting that I needed to pee.

But when I woke up first, I could look my fill.

You looked so much younger when you were asleep, when you weren’t wearing the carefully controlled expression required to survive as Uther’s only son.

I would drink you in, observing the way your eyelashes fanned out toward your cheekbones, those beautiful chiseled cheekbones that I loved to trace with my thumbs. The morning light would dance across your body, highlighting the muscles you worked so hard on in training every damn day, and the sparse hair on your chest, and your dark pink nipples. 

I would see all the scars on your chest and arms, and know exactly how much you had given for Camelot, and I would be selfishly grateful that none of the scars were on your face. 

Then I would tease the sheets down, being careful so I didn’t wake you, and I would notice the shadow of your navel, and the thin trail that led down to your cock, all plumped up and hopeful.

And then I would lose all my restraint, and kiss you awake, sometimes with kisses on the mouth, sometimes lower.  
I loved the sex, I loved being inside you, I loved it when we brought each other off with our hands, or our mouths. But even more I loved the soft light in your eyes when you looked at me, and I loved knowing there was a part of you that was just for me.

You could be playful in bed, or demanding, or rough if we were in the right mood, but there was never a single time when I didn’t feel like something precious under your hands. 

Or under your gaze.

Our last conversations were mostly by firelight. I finally told you my secret, and you accepted it. I held you as the light faded from your eyes.

You were the Light of Albion, and the light of my life.

I wait for you.

* * *

**15.**

There was a section in the very back of the library; a hidden section that Merlin was not even sure Geoffrey knew about. See, the only way to get to this section was with magic. The first time Merlin had found the room, it was all he could do to contain his glee. The books and bits and bobs were, in fact, magical. 

Most of these things were what Gaius had once referred to as Light Magicks; the useful spells that were used to help or heal. Perhaps the most surprising (and most interesting) find, was the small leather-bound book he found tucked away in a corner. It had intrigued him from the start, for its cover was completely blank. Merlin bit his lip, looking down at the innocuous black cover. After a moment of deliberation, he slipped the book under his tunic and dashed out of the room.

When he got back to his chambers, he rushed past the empty fore chamber (Gaius must have been out collecting those herbs that he’d asked Merlin to pick over a week ago) and into his small bedroom. He stood at the end of his bed, breath faster than normal, and with shaking hands brought out the little black book from beneath his tunic.

With no little trepidation, he flipped the book open, incidentally to the same page he had spied before. This time, he kept the book open, taking in the black and white sketches that covered the page, glancing briefly over the small spidery writing that accompanied each image. He began turning the pages, curious to see more of what the book had to offer.

For the most part, each drawing was the same as the first, risqué and intriguing and entirely embarrassing should he be caught looking at such things. Others made his stomach clench as he wondered why anyone would _want_ such things done to them. They were grotesque in their use, what he would surely label as Dark magicks, though the images didn’t seem to be of harming anyone. Then, Merlin landed on a page that did not make him cringe or his balls to shrink in sympathy. In fact the image on this page marked the first time his dick had shown any real interest in the book.

On the page was a simple drawing of a man, his arms and legs spread out across a bed in an “X”. But what had truly caught Merlin’s eye was the tiny tendril of magic drawn over the man’s groin. Merlin drew the book closer to his face, close enough that his nose was almost to the page. He could just barely make out that the tendril was not simply going over the man’s groin, but was in fact going _into_ his penis!

Merlin blinked and sat back. How could that possibly be at all pleasurable? But the more he thought on it, the more curious he became. Determined, he took a deep breath and gave the spell another glance. Satisfied he could pronounce it correctly, he set the book aside. He quickly stood and divested himself of his clothes before return to lie on his bed.

With the whispered words, his limbs were quickly tugged straight out, leaving his spread on the small cot. For a moment, nothing further happened. He almost figured he’d gotten the spell wrong, but then he felt a warm tickle on his cheek. Merlin gasped in awe as the trail of gold came into his sight, curving down to caress his chest. It moved over his stomach, feeling not unlike a warm mouth trailing kisses along the soft skin.

His cock, which had been hard and leaking from the start, twitched at the small brush of magic against it. Merlin couldn’t help the shuddery breath as he felt the magic twist and stroke along his thighs, down and back again in maddeningly soft touches. Then, without hesitation, the magic moved up to the tip of his cock and sank into the slit. Merlin shouted at the sensation. It was intimate on a level he’d never experienced before. Something was _inside_ his cock. 

Merlin could feel the tendril undulating inside him, fucking him. He gasped as the speed increased, moaned as it slowed. Soon enough his back was bowing, hips seeking for friction. A second tendril of magic broke off, sliding down behind his balls and pressing. Merlin come with a hoarse shout, come and magic spurting from his cock to land on his stomach.

* * *

**16.**

[Text from Morgana 6:52 P.M.]  
 _Electricity went out at the flat... Can you bring extra candles and a lighter on your way back?_

Gwaine texted back “Yes” as he left work, heading down the road to the flat that he and Morgana had just bought. 

[Text from Morgana 6:55 P.M.]  
 _Thanks babe_

Gwaine felt a warmth spread in his chest, like every other time Morgana did or said something even remotely affectionate. She was not a very affectionate person, so when it was directed at him he felt the need to savor the moment. 

~*~

Gwaine saw them by accident, actually. He had been going through the aisles looking for candles and spotted one more box of them and thought, _perfect_.

~*~

“Mmm, so-- ah-- eager tonight,” Morgana moaned and chuckled into his ear. They were naked now, lying in bed, Gwaine grinding his cock down against her belly. 

“Got a surprise for ya,” Gwaine said, grinning against her bare shoulder. He loved her silky skin, the way she smelled, her hair sliding down her back. She was a beautiful goddess of a woman, and for some strange reason she had chosen to spend her time with him, share her bed and heart. It was more than Gwaine could ever ask for and he tried so hard to just keep her as happy as he could. 

“Oh really?” She said in that particular tone where Gwaine just knew, without looking, that she was smirking that smirk. He looked up-- yup-- and watched her lips for a moment before leaning down to give her a lingering kiss. 

“Yeah,” he whispered against her lips, nibbling on her bottom one for a moment before he leaned over and reached for his jeans on the floor. He felt her eyes on him as he grabbed the wrapper from his pocket, tossed the jeans and blew out the candle on their nightstand.

“Gwaine! I’m not fucking in the bloody dark--”

“Sshhh,” he interrupted her, kissing her hard as he quickly unwrapped and fumbled for a moment before slipping the condom on, stroking his cock and leaning up slightly. 

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust he could tell before her head lifted and she looked down. “What the--” Morgana burst out laughing and he grinned. Mission accomplished. “Is that-- is that a glow in the dark condom?!”

“Fuck yeah it is!” Gwaine grinned. Her laugh was the sexiest thing in the world. “My cock is now a glowing beacon for your pussy! It shall lead our way in the darkness!”

She laughed so hard she actually clung to him, her arms and legs wrapping around him like a silky vine and he succumbed, pressing against her, cock nudging her entrance. 

“Alright then, show my pussy the light,” she giggled, bucking up and engulfing him into her, cock quickly wrapped around her slick heat. 

He moaned into her neck, thrusting all the way in and giving her a few moments to adjust. One hand was by her head while the other was just rubbing down her back and side, awed as he always was by how perfectly they fit together. “Morgana-- love, you’re--gods-- perfect--”

“That I am,” Morgana panted into his ear, arching into him like a harp’s string and he had never heard anything so sweet as the melody of her skin against his. “This is-- ah! This is kinda hot actually-- can’t see you, just-- feel you-- more intense--”

“Mmm,” he groaned in agreement as he pulled out and fucked back in, thrusting against her and filling himself with her moans of pleasure and the way her hips moved. “Could spend hours like this-- just rockin’ in ya, babe.”

Her voice was soft, full of light and laughter as she curled her fingers through his hair and gripped the back of his shoulder. “As lovely as that would be, I don’t think your glow in the dark condom would be quite that sustainable.”

“You’re right,” Gwaine said, thrusting in a bit faster, reaching down to rub her clit in circles, the most powerful way he knew how to make her orgasm. “How about you come for me a few times first then? I’ve got a whole pack of these bright lovelies.”

For the first time, her orgasm’s shouts were mixed with laughter and she remained wrapped around him the entire night afterwards, no light necessary.

* * *

**17.**

A thousand years have passed, and the Royal offspring isn't Arthur (Merlin did the sniff test, which... awkward, and the baby smelled of baby, not destiny). Times aren't dire enough yet then, even as the water is lapping higher on the shores and the markets are dropping lower. Merlin hangs around another five hundred years, Arthur's never been the most reliable, but as technology is advancing, Merlin decides to throw himself into it.

DeepFreeze has him walk into a crystal cave of his own making. It'd be dumb luck if he missed him in the meantime but he trusts fate and dragon promises that, well, he'd know somehow.

When they unlock him, the world is a little darker and a little more sullen, pouting at everything at the drop of a hat and kicking a hurricane here, floods there and fire the next day. It gets dark early and stays dark most of the day, the sun not making it through the smog to reach them down below. People walk with headlamps and torches, glow-in-the-dark clothes with patterns for fashion and blinking colours for accessories. Merlin just walks in the dark.

He looks through the news for the royals (gone) and the people in charge (none scream Arthur), and then he just walks the streets, alone between glimmers of brightness. 

A woman talks to him about the kind of love that only exists once in a lifetime, as he settles on a bench that no bus ever stops at with another few poor souls who look a little worse for wear, lamps barely blinking.

The city isn't Camelot from then, nor is it London from later. He sleeps in doorways and eats scraps, keeping his eyes open and his nose sniffing for something that's a bit of what he was promised.

All the shit and then all the glory, it had boiled down to, but he's been wading for millennia now (well, frozen for some of it, who could blame him for a short cut). He's a bit sick of sniffing shit, and he's a bit lonely. He touches himself sometimes. He could get laid but everyone seems in a hurry to disappear back into the dark while he has too much time on his hands.

He gets drawn in by a shop on the corner. It glows bright with fixtures for heads and hands and legs, with clothes that throw light far onto the sidewalks. He slips inside as someone steps out, but there is little room to melt into a corner here if he doesn't go for a bit of magic.

He doesn't, not when the light sinks into his bones.

Merlin stands between two displays, looking like the man who got defrosted and spit out by time, with spotlights on him, while Arthur is on the other side of the shop floor, light reflecting off his hair. He is only oblivious for a moment (a minute, maybe two) longer.

"You're selling lights," Merlin says when Arthur stands in front of him. He leans and sniffs (no shit).

"People need lights."

"I need you. You're..." He wants to say, "my light," and settles on, "late," for the heck of it. Both are true.

When Arthur comes up from the shop floor later, Merlin stands at the window in the dark and watches people below glowing like fireflies in a cold world. Arthur steps up behind him, undresses him and turns on the lights. They kiss, and Merlin doesn't dare close his eyes as he runs his hands over Arthur's body, to his cock, takes him in hand and in mouth. Arthur glows. Merlin braces himself against the window as Arthur puts one, then two fingers into him and fucks him slowly for everyone on the streets below to see. He slips his cock in after, all the way, and fucks into him.

"Everyone carries a bit of light into the world for me," Arthur says, thrusts hard enough to have Merlin moan and fog the glass with his breath, fireflies barely visible beyond. "I've been waiting for you to find me."

Merlin keeps his eyes open until the brightness of the lamps leaves spots in his eyes, pulling on his cock until he smears the glass. "I've been stuck in the dark for too long," he says and laughs and comes (he's been saving it for a thousand years).

"No more," Arthur says.

Well, he's got a whole shop floor of lights after all.

* * *

**18.**

Arthur is sun-kissed and golden, his skin burnished by the hours spent training with sword and shield. Everything about him marks him for the summer child that he is. The Sun's rays favor him, embracing him, and he seems to glow wherever he is. His body radiates strength and he draws others to him. He is robust, his presence undeniable, and so beautiful to look at that sometimes it hurts. He is the day's own son, sunbeams molded into the form of a man, and he shines like gold.

Arthur knows that he rules the day but Merlin comes alive at night and it's _breathtaking_. 

If Arthur is born of the Sun, then Merlin is undeniably the Moon's child.

Merlin is as pale and fair as Arthur is golden, his body slim and soft where Arthur's is thick and strong. But Arthur knows that Merlin is far from weak. Out here in the forest, just the two of them under the bright harvest moon, the raw power that emanates from Merlin's nude form is intoxicating. His skin seems to absorb the moonlight, reflecting it back tenfold until he looks like some wild ethereal thing, fey and beautiful.

Standing by the edge of the lake, his face upturned to the sky and his arms outstretched, Merlin looks untamed and untouchable, like he might disappear behind a cloud the moment Arthur reaches for him. Drops of lake water still cling to Merlin's body, glistening like tiny crystals in the moonlight and Arthur is overcome by the desire to swallow each one, to lick the precious stones from Merlin's body and feel that raw energy coursing through him.

But Arthur knows he has no power here. The dark hours belong to Merlin. Merlin is a child of the night and his magic has dominion over this place.

Every time they do this, Arthur stands trembling like it's the first time. He's King of Camelot and yet he feels no shame at being utterly cowed in this moment. His cock has been hard for what feels like forever and he's quite sure that his gooseprickles will never fade, but for once Arthur makes no move to hurry things along. He knows how powerful this magic is, how necessary it is to ensuring that Camelot's fields yield a bountiful harvest, and for those reasons alone he would never interrupt.

But more than anything, it's how terrifyingly _gorgeous_ Merlin looks right now that keeps Arthur in his place. Merlin wears his hair longer now than when they were young and it flows down to his shoulders, glinting silver-black and rippling with magic like the rest of him. Merlin's eyes burn gold as they only do on this night and Arthur shields his own when Merlin's finally turns that gaze upon him. 

_'It's time.'_

The words echo in Arthur's mind even as he gazes at Merlin's motionless lips. Rolling his eyes, Arthur closes the distance between them with measured strides. 

'Show off,' he murmurs, letting Merlin draw him into a soft kiss. The heat of Merlin's body against his own cool skin is a shock and he draws Merlin closer still. 

Arthur feels the shift in Merlin's breath a split second before their kiss turns deep and primal. He feels the sting across his back a moment before Merlin rakes his nail across the skin, opening up red lines of delicious pain that will mark him for days. When Merlin guides them down to the grass, it's almost as though the ground rises up to cradle them. Arthur's palms slide into their place against Merlin's hips, his thumbs pressed against the delicate bones there. 

Every moment is familiar and somehow brand new all at once. 

Merlin's body arching over him, long and sinuous. 

His fingers in Arthur's hair, the tension at Arthur's nape when Merlin grips tight for leverage and splits himself open on Arthur's cock. 

The pain that sears his skin as the runes painted across Merlin's chest begin to burn hot like embers.

The way his vision seems to go white as he thrusts up and up, trying to paint the Moon with his release as he fills Merlin warm and thick.

The way Merlin arches his back and cries out, deep and guttural, ancient magic pulsating in the air.

Arthur cradles Merlin against his chest when his lover collapses against him. He'll sleep until the sun rises, Arthur knows. Settling Merlin against him, Arthur follows.

* * *

**19.**

Arthur gazed up at the skies above him aware their time together was growing short. He couldn’t help himself as the skies painted in hues of vibrant delight shone down creating a watercolour masterpiece along the pale skin of a lowly manservant in the arms of a prince; slowly, Arthur bent his head to softly rub his lips along the line of his lover’s collarbone following the strong line to his shoulder, where he lay a kiss so soft it could have been the sweep of a butterfly’s wing. 

A contented sigh came from the rise and fall of Merlin’s chest.

Arthur smiled into his lover’s neck and began to press soft kisses just below his ear. He received the reaction he always did; a trembling Merlin, moaning softly and arching up into his lover’s arms. Arthur sighed sadly looking once more to the licks of flaming orange burning up skies that would slowly turn to a calming blue far too soon. “We should head back, love… Camelot beckons.”

“No… Please, don’t stop… It felt so nice,” came the desperate plea from his lover. 

He pulled back enough to look into dazzling eyes, still shadowed with morning exhaustion. “How am I ever to refuse you?”

He leaned in, lips ghosting across his lover’s. There was a silent moment as the words ‘I love you’ were not spoken, but breathed in unison by two souls crying out as one, before lips sought out lips in a languorous show of affection and devotion.

Their bodies moulded together in lover’s dance as though made to fit together. Soft, needy moans escaped Merlin’s lips and were swallowed by his prince in their wanton kiss. Slowly Arthur’s kisses wandered down his lover’s body, which lay shivering with anticipation. Arthur knew what he wanted, what he ached for, but would Merlin allow him.

The prince continued on his journey south, noting each tremble as he kissed every spot he knew his lover to be sensitive in. He knew every curve of his beloved’s body. When his tongue dipped into the defined line of those sharp hips, Merlin bucked and cried out, gripping the gold hair intertwined in his slim fingers. 

“Merlin…?”

“Yes… Arthur, please… Please?” As sweet as the nightingale’s song to the prince’s ears. 

Moments later, Arthur’s warm tongue curled around his lover’s proud cock, tasting him and moaning at the luscious flavour that assaulted his senses. 

Merlin groaned and his hips stuttered as Arthur bathed his hard erection with his skilful tongue and lips. 

He swirled the tip of his tongue around the straining head of his cock and without another moment swallowed him down, loving the way he filled his mouth.

Merlin pulled at his prince’s hair bucking into his waiting mouth. The strong hands of said prince held his hips still so that he could work a magic all of his own. As his grip loosened on Merlin’s hips, he allowed Merlin to buck repeatedly into the cavern of his mouth, giving over all the control to his desperate lover. The two men burned with unbridled passion as their bodies sweat-slicked and dampened with the morning dew convulsed against the other. He took himself in his firm hand and stroked his own cock as he sucked harder on Merlin and flicked that careful tongue wildly within his mouth.

“Arthur… ugh, I can’t… Arthur, oh… love you… so much, so good… Arthur!” A litany of cries as Merlin arched his back divinely forcing himself deeper into his prince’s welcoming, greedy mouth. 

The prince pumped his own cock harder as he felt his lover become overwhelmed and moaned harshly around his cock. 

Neither was sure whom the scream came from as they soared into bliss. Merlin came so very hard that Arthur struggled to swallow every drop of his beloved’s essence, while soaring to newfound heights of pleasure in his own orgasm. 

Wave after wave of ecstasy devoured the two lovers as they became entangled in one another. A kiss of pure devotion was shared as they fell from their cloud and back into one another’s arms. The vibrant crimsons of the sunrise a thing of the past as the rich blue fell upon them, they knew their time together for this day was over, and yet they spent one long, last moment wrapped in one another, the rest of the world ignored as only the other existed. This was the place in which they were simply them, and simply in love.

* * *

**20.**

**Note:** [This is a saddle horn](http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-swy_F0NWhvI/TspujCPh6NI/AAAAAAAAB3w/U2vZffrA1YE/s400/ML+Leddy+Saddle+Horn.jpg). I don't think a medieval knight would actually have one, but OH WELL.

Gwaine has a sneaking suspicion that he is most sober person present. It’s a rather alarming possibility. 

Because yes, he may have started singing the bawdy songs earlier in the night, and yes, he may have instigated the series of dirty bets, but he was _bluffing_. That’s what men do, in Gwaine’s experience. They challenge each other to obscene and physically improbable tasks, and then promptly forget about them.

No one is ever going to forget this.

“Arthur,” Gwaine tries. “Are you really going to let him do this?”

Arthur doesn’t even look at Gwaine; his mouth is open, his color high, his eyes fixed on Merlin. “A challenge has been made, Sir Gwaine.”

Merlin’s kneeling in the dirt near the fire, naked from the waist down. Gwaine can just glimpse his fingers working the oil between his legs.

“Come on, Merlin!” Percival calls out. “Enough. Do it.”

Merlin sighs, but shuffles backward and kneels up to situate himself over the horn of the saddle Gwaine had tossed onto the ground. It had been a _joke_ , for Christ’s sake. A stupid, over-the-top, lascivious—

“Sweet Lord,” Leon says out loud when Merlin brings himself down. He pauses at the top of the horn, his hips swivelling and shoulders squaring, but then he bears down.

Percival whoops, and Elyan starts a slow clap.

Gwaine cannot take his eyes off of Merlin’s face. His mouth initially screws up against the pain or the intensity, but as he moves down ever so slowly, his lips gape and stretch apart as if some invisible gag were inserted there. He’s clearly trying to avoid any embarrassing noises, but his breath heaves louder and louder until his panting becomes the predominant sound—louder even than the fire crackling or the rustle of wind through the trees. 

There’s no more boisterous encouragement from the knights after that. The mood shifts abruptly into something else. Percy and Elyan are silent and stone-faced, shifting minutely in their sprawl against one another. Leon’s got his eyes averted but a death grip on the handle of the ale jug. Even Arthur—normally so eager to see Merlin made ridiculous—is developing a twitchy moue, his smirk slipped away.

There’s comes a small, quick sound—a bitten off keen—and Merlin drops his arse that last inch to rest against the pommel. Gwaine can’t see anything, really, where Merlin’s legs cast dark shadows, but he can imagine it. The fire blurs for an instant as the dark pink hue of an arsehole flashes in Gwaine’s mind’s eye: the way it must’ve swallowed the fat head of the horn.

“Well—” and Arthur’s voice cracks on the word. He clears his throat. “Well. I declare Merlin the winner of the challenge.”

“Well done,” Elyan says lowly, and Percy and Leon join him in stilted congratulations. They are all too, too drunk for this.

“Pay the forfeit, Gwaine,” Percival slurs.

Gwaine blinks several times, parsing that. “I don’t remember what it was.”

“I do.” Merlin’s voice is dangerous, and half an octave lower than normal. It makes Gwaine shiver. “Get down here and suck my cock.”

Gwaine’s taken three steps forward before his brain catches up with him. “But. Don’t you want to…”

Arthur says it for him. “You can get off that thing now, Merlin.” He’s trying for a tone of imperious command and not quite reaching it.

Merlin narrows his eyes but doesn’t argue. He lifts his arse a bare inch before making a shocked little noise and dropping down again. “I can’t. I can’t. Just—”

“What, are you stuck?” Arthur asks, horror creeping into his expression.

“ _Gwaine_ ,” Merlin snaps, and Gwaine never followed an order so fast in his life, he’s on his knees so quick. “Suck me,” Merlin says, his fingers already pulling Gwaine’s hair. “I can get off it, I just need some distraction. Suck me.”

Gwaine sucks him. He buries his face in Merlin’s lap, and doesn’t look up when there begin to come slick, smacking noises about him. Noises like wanking, or maybe kissing. But he doesn’t look, just licks and suckles until Merlin’s hard and shaking.

Merlin kneels up off the horn just as he’s coming in Gwaine’s mouth, and the _sound_ he makes when he does—. Gwaine will remember that. He doesn’t care how drunk and dizzy he is, he will remember that sound forever.

Everyone pretends to forget about it the day after. No one does.

* * *

**21.**

The contrast between Merlin's skin and the dark paint takes Arthur's breath away. He loves it, the way Merlin is so pale in the light of the room, the way the black prints - Arthur's fingers, palms - are bottomless pits. Arthur presses his fingers into the hollow of Merlin's clavicles, wraps his hands around that slim throat, and forgets to breathe. The contrast is too much, the way it speaks to him, calls out for him. If he just tightens his grip - 

Merlin is the one bound to the bed, the one with the safeword, but it's Arthur who jerks away, curling in on himself as he whispers "dragon" over and over. His hands are still smeared with black paint, but he forgets and runs his fingers through his hair, down his face, leaving trails of black in their wake. Dimly, he hears Merlin shift and call his name, and knows that he needs to be responsible and untie Merlin, but the thought of even looking at Merlin, still painted and so vulnerable beneath his hands - it's terrifying in ways Arthur can't understand.

Minutes later, or maybe seconds later, Arthur feels arms wrap around his torso. It occurs to him to wonder how Merlin got free of the ropes, but he doesn't actually question anything. All that matters is that Merlin has his arms around Arthur, and Arthur can relax into his boyfriend, feeling the encompassing terror slowly dissipate. After a few minutes, he's breathing normally, and Arthur manages to wrap his arms around Merlin in return.

"Want to talk about it?" Merlin asks, and Arthur just shakes his head. How do you admit to someone that you had just tightened your fingers, had just let go for one moment...? The darkness that lingers in his soul is not something he ever wants to discuss, especially not with Merlin. 

Merlin doesn't say anything to that, only tightens his arms around Arthur, hands running up and down his back. Neither of them pay attention to the dark paint - it had been Arthur's suggestion, meant to be playful but something much more. He clings to Merlin, torn between wanting to disappear and wanting Merlin to stay forever. 

There's a terror he keeps close to his heart, that he'll turn out like Uther, who killed people for being different, or like Morgana, who killed people for not being different. He can't deal with the thought, doesn't want to leave behind a reputation that makes people cringe and whisper in fear. He doesn't want - 

"You're nothing like them," Merlin murmurs, pressing a kiss to Arthur's forehead. "You wouldn't do anything like them." 

The words shatter Arthur.

-

When he can finally see through the tears, Merlin is still there, still running his hands up and down his back.

"I love you," Arthur says, exhausted and drained. It's the only thing he can think of, how happy - how lucky - he is to have Merlin there. He presses a kiss to Merlin's lip before Merlin can actually say anything. Arthur doesn't need the reassurance that his feelings are returned. He knows.

The kiss is tender and sweet with Merlin tangling his hands in Arthur's hair. Arthur is dimly aware of the paint once again, but it doesn't hold the same power. All he can think of is how much of a pain it will be to get out later. 

He shifts and stretches out on the floor. Merlin settles over him, their bodies pressed together. Arthur isn't necessarily interested in getting off, feels no need to rush through anything, but he still arches his back, grinds his hips against Merlin's. He wants the comfort of Merlin's weight above him, wants to make sure Merlin is okay, wants to make sure Merlin is there, always. 

"Arthur," Merlin sighs, and Arthur shivers. They're kissing again, while they move in tandem with each other, slow and steady and relaxed. It doesn't take long for both their cocks to harden, but neither of them speed up their movements. It's the first time in a long time where they haven't been focused on orgasms, or the games they normally play during sex, and it's nice. Not something Arthur wants all the time, but comforting and wonderful and lovely when he needs all of those. 

His orgasm sneaks up on him. Arthur doesn't feel his balls tighten, his stomach muscles clench, just feels the sudden release of tension, and he goes limp, safe in Merlin's arms.

* * *

**22.**

Merlin blinks awake long before any of the other servants. In the dim candlelight, he sits up and wriggles out of his white sleep tunic, donning a colorful one in its place, then moves on to fumbling with the fastenings on his boots and his neckerchief, his fingers sleep-clumsy.

Once dressed, he inches down the creaky stairs, careful not to disturb Gaius snoring on his cot. He splashes his face with cool water from the basin, washing crust from his eyes and dirt from his skin. Breakfast is grab-and-go; he snatches up a large red apple he was lucky enough to acquire from the kitchens yesterday, tugs on his jacket, and slips out of the workshop.

The castle corridors are long and empty, but familiar, and as the rest of Merlin's day is usually quite busy, he enjoys having the stroll and breakfast to himself; gives him time to wake up. He ambles along, occasionally taking a bite out of his apple, until he finds himself at the door to Arthur's chambers. He doesn't knock, because the noise would wake Arthur; he just lets himself in, shutting the door soundlessly and leaning back against it. He sinks his teeth into the apple for another sweet bite and nearly chokes on it.

The privacy curtains surrounding Arthur's bed are all open, which he expected because Arthur only shuts them when he's genuinely miffed at Merlin and he hasn't done anything _too_ annoying recently, but Arthur's kicked off all the bedsheets as well, or tried to--the bloodred silk is tangled and twisted around one of his ankles. He's naked, lying prone on his stomach and turned away towards the window so only the back of his very blonde head is visible.

Gods, even before Arthur lacked the inner character to match his outer beauty, Merlin found him beautiful, but now, sprawled carelessly in his sleep, he's breathtaking. Apple forgotten, Merlin watches the morning sun spill over Arthur's tanned skin, illuminating the fine golden hairs that seem to have been dusted over his whole body. His eyes linger on Arthur's form with a leisure he's rarely allowed, tracing the firm curve of buttocks, the bend of a knee, even admiring the soles of his oversized feet. Why should Arthur wear a paltry band of metal when the gods provided him a crown of golden hair that shines in the sun?

And what would Arthur say if he could hear these thoughts? _Writing poetry again, are we, Mer-lin?_ he'd smirk. But he'd be just the tiniest bit pleased. It was all there to see in his eyes, if only you cared to look, and Merlin always looks, long and hard. He's quite possibly the only person in Arthur's life who isn't afraid of his blustering.

Smiling, Merlin collects the silver platter from the dining table and walks it downstairs to fetch Arthur's breakfast. As always, the kitchens are torture, steaming hot and wafting with delicious scents, but thankfully Arthur's dishes have already been prepared and laid out, just waiting for him to pick up. "Thanks!" Merlin calls out cheerily, but the head cook is buried in pots and barely spares him a glance, grumbling something incomprehensible.

By the time he arrives back at Arthur's chambers, he's broken a light sweat, but nothing's spilled, so he sets the platter down carefully, beaming a little. He's hankering to sneak a slice of bacon, but he resists; if Arthur's in a good mood, he'll probably let him have the leftovers.

And Arthur's awake now, must be--his face is planted firmly in the pillow, but his toes are curling, buttocks clenching, muscles flexing... oh. Merlin's face flames as he recognizes that slow, instinctive rolling of hips. Arthur's humping his morning wood against the bed, so intent on finding release he apparently didn't hear Merlin enter.

Merlin should say something, anything, to alert Arthur to his presence but he doesn't, and he can't look away, his heart racing faster with every soft, stifled cry Arthur makes, the occasional impatient swiveling of his hips, the way his hands scrabble at the sheets for greater purchase.

Even in this, Arthur is restrained; the only sound that escapes him is a quiet, muffled groan as he cums, hips jerking rhythmically until he's spent and slumped. His back rises and falls rapidly as he tries to catch his breath; Merlin, for his part, tries very hard not to breathe at all, so as not to break the spell.

* * *

**23.**

“You have a steady hand, Merlin,” Gaius said when he came upon Merlin drawing the Mortaeus flower in the book he had started keeping.

Merlin was pleased with the drawing of the flower, and he flushed at Gaius' praise as he turned through the pages of Merlin's sketches. It had been a childhood pursuit. Young Merlin would get in trouble with his mum for wasting berries, using their juice to draw pictures of woodland animals on the stable wall. Occasionally, a peddler would come through Ealdor with parchment among his wares, and Merlin would trade nearly anything for it.

His most prized possession he brought to Camelot was a sketchbook.

Merlin was prouder of this collection of his drawings, but he didn't dare show them to Gaius. He kept it hidden alongside the Grimoire under the loose floorboards in his room.

He had added to it that morning, in the early hours before the castle was awake and bustling, before the rooster had given its cry. The day before, he had been too preoccupied to finish cleaning Arthur's chambers. His day had been spent helping Gaius gather herbs in anticipation of the fever that tore through Camelot once the weather started to cool. Determined not to disappoint Arthur, Merlin awoke in the early hours and crept to Arthur's rooms to pick up the clothing and maps and discarded dishes that accumulated during a day.

At dawn, Merlin went to rouse Arthur, but the sight of the sleeping prince made him stop in his tracks. The sun was softly licking Arthur's skin, lapping at the rise of his shoulder. As the sun rose, the patch began to grow, spreading across Arthur's taut back muscles where the sheet had slipped low, teasing the bridge of Arthur's nose, where his head was resting on his pillow.

Merlin couldn't keep his fingers from twitching. He needed to put charcoal to parchment, to capture that quiet moment where Prince Arthur was free from all burden and duty, awash in the pure, golden glow of a new day.

So Merlin slipped back to Gaius' chambers, retrieved his book, and sketched a few lines, enough to commit the planes of Arthur's body to memory so he could add the shadows later.

It was by the glow of a candle that night he brought the book out again. In practiced strokes, he filled in the grey areas, pressing harder with his charcoal to create more contrast, using his thumb to blend the harsh sketch lines into a seamless image. The most difficult area to capture was Arthur's face. Merlin sharpened his charcoal to a point, and then hunched over the paper, painstakingly playing with line and shade to capture Arthur's sturdy jaw, pillowing lips, and eyelashes that fanned above his cheekbones as he slept.

By the time he finished, the sleeping prince's form was barely visible on the parchment in what remained of the candle stub. In contrast to the fading flame, Merlin was starting to heat with arousal.

Merlin didn't have any carnal knowledge to speak of, but he knew he wanted to touch. To trace the patterns where the sun kissed Arthur's body. To trace his fingertips along the edges where shadows began. To dip his fingers underneath the bed sheets to the places Arthur never let the sun dare reach. 

Though Arthur was a prince, he was also a warrior, his body hardened by years of swinging swords and riding horses. But he was soft in places, too, and Merlin could never resist stealing glances, seeking the hidden soft places, as Arthur bathed. That vulnerability was present in his sleep, so Merlin let his charcoal follow where his hands could not.

He touched himself instead. He pulled his manhood from his breeches and gripped himself tightly. He wondered what it would feel like to have Arthur's strong, calloused hand around his prick instead. Or what it would be like to rub himself between the curved cheeks of Arthur’s arse, the perfect roundness only hinted in Merlin's drawing, obscured by Arthur's sheets.

The closer he came to losing control of his desire, the more he lost control of his magic. It was for that reason he didn't often indulge in pleasure. His dying candle flame surged with his power as he grew close. The brilliant glow illuminated Arthur's likeness, and Merlin’s heart clenched with want as he spilled into his hand. 

On the parchment, Arthur’s sleeping form didn’t stir.

* * *

**24.**

Arthur and Merlin are gone. Gwen doesn’t know where. Knights and guards lay where they were slaughtered or fill Camelot’s dungeons. 

Gwen faces Morgana alone and expects death.

“I’m giving you another chance.” Morgana reclines on the throne, pets Lancelot like a dog as he kneels beside her. “He obeys my command. He’ll stay by your side to make sure you don’t betray me again.”

A lump forms in Gwen’s throat but she nods.

~*~

Morgana locks them in the servant’s quarters next to her chambers. There’s one small bed.

Gwen doesn’t sleep. She lies on the bed and gazes at Lancelot. He stares at the floor and looks lost.

~*~

Morgana makes Gwen watch.

She sits naked on the throne. Lancelot is on his knees before her and Morgana grinds herself against his mouth.

Gwen gasps as Lancelot’s tongue drags over the exposed nub of Morgana’s wet cunt. A hot twist pulses between her legs.

As Morgana’s moans fill the room, Gwen watches her body shudder in orgasm, finds her gaze drawn to the bounce of her breasts.

She remembers what it felt like to have Morgana’s tongue inside her.

~*~

“Come.” Gwen reaches out to him a few nights later.

He goes to her, lays on top of the blankets rather than crawl under them. 

Gwen questions his memory but it makes her heart break. Morgana told Lancelot that Arthur stole the crown. Those loyal to him are traitors to be put to death.

She thinks of Elyan and his comrades in the dungeons. Morgana tortures them for Arthur’s whereabouts. They say nothing. 

“And me?”

Lancelot’s voice softens. “You’re kind, loyal and beautiful. I must keep you safe.”

“Morgana told you that?”

“No. But that’s what I remember.”

Gwen draws herself against him and Lancelot holds her close. For the first time since Morgana’s takeover, Gwen sleeps well.

~*~

Those of dark magic and bitter hatred for Uther gather in the city. They make puppet shows of the dead. They enchant captives to look like Uther, kill and burn them. They drag the knights from the dungeons and control their bodies make them fight each other until there’s more blood than dirt.

Gwen feels glad for Lancelot’s constant presence at her side. She sleeps in his arms. She’s safe there.

~*~

As Gwen watches, she tries not to moan at the sight of Morgana’s heaving breasts and Lancelot’s tongue against her folds. Gwen clasps her hands in front of her, tries to hide the way she rubs herself with her thumbs through her skirt.

~*~

One night Gwen asks Lancelot to pleasure her as well. He’s gentle, loving, touches Gwen with his tongue in ways she had almost forgotten.

~*~

She wakes to screams, rushes through the door which connects their quarters with Morgana’s chambers. 

Her hair tangles against her sweat-slicked forehead. She thrashes and whimpers in her sleep. The name Emrys tumbles from her mouth. 

“Morgana!” Gwen gently shakes her awake. “It’s okay.”

“Gwen!” Morgana still seems disorientated. But she reaches for Gwen, clings to her, wraps her arms tightly around Gwen’s shoulders and pushes her face into her neck.

“Don’t leave,” she sobs. Gwen feels tears against her skin. “Don’t leave me again.”

“I’m here,” she strokes Morgana’s hair, kisses her forehead. “I won’t leave you.”

~*~

When Morgana has nightmares, Gwen goes to her. Morgana’s lips trail down her neck and breasts. Her kisses are fire against Gwen’s skin but she arches herself desperately into them. 

Lancelot sits on a chair by the window and watches the night.

~*~

“Undress,” Morgana tells her. “Come here.”

Gwen lets her dress fall to the floor and approaches the throne naked.

Morgana draws an arm around Gwen’s waist to pull her down on her knee and press their bodies together to kiss her. Gwen opens her mouth when Morgana probes her lips with her tongue and moans gently when she feels two fingers slip inside her. Morgana’s touch moves inside her, presses deep. 

She pushes her palm against Morgana’s breast, tweaks the firm nipple. Morgana hums in approval, glides her fingers back and forth and Gwen rocks her hips with the movement inside her.

Gwen reaches to Lancelot. Her fingers curl in his hair and he raises himself into her touch. Gwen shudders with such pleasure to think of what he must be doing with his tongue to make Morgana gasp so sharply and press her fingertips against Gwen’s clit.

“I missed you so much,” Gwen’s words come in shuddered whispers.

She speaks to both of them.


	6. Group B (No Warnings)

**25.**

Merlin stiffly walks towards Arthur’s chambers. He feels completely empty. He can still see the light as it slowly drains from Mordred’s clear blue eyes. There’s no coming back from what he’s done. As he grasps the door handle, the only thing he can think is how much he wants to die. 

“I swear Merlin one of these days…” Arthur trails off. “Merlin?”

Merlin is shaking and doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to stop. “Arthur...I tried to kill Mordred.”

Arthur gapes at him.

“I tried to strangle him because I saw a vision that he was going to kill you. I couldn’t go through with it...not even for you.” He swallows thickly. “Everything has been for you. I’ve gone against everything I was supposed to be fighting for. I’ve denied who I am.” Merlin inhales deeply. “Arthur, I-I have magic.”

Arthur’s eyes widen. “Merlin, that’s not possible.”

Merlin’s eyes glow as he lifts a plate next to Arthur with his magic. For the second time that night, Merlin sees the light die in someone’s eyes.

~*~

As the guards push him to kneel down in the Council Chambers, Merlin can’t help but look around and feel a tragic sense of deja vu. Once again Arthur is facing someone he trusts horrible betrayal. 

Arthur walks in and dismisses everyone. He paces in front of Merlin. “Get up.”

Merlin stands up shakily. 

Arthur stops pacing and stalks towards Merlin. “You said that everything you’ve done has been for me?”

Merlin just stares. 

“Speak!” Arthur exhales. “You’ve never been shy with your words before Merlin please don’t be now.”

“Yes, I’ve used my magic for you.”

“Alright, then I need you to show me.” 

Merlin brings his shoulders up in a tired shrug. “I don’t know how to do that.”

“Merlin, you’re a sorcerer. Think of something.” His eyes bore into Merlin’s. “Before I decide anything I need to know. I deserve to know everything. Please, Merlin.”

“I’ll have to touch you.”

Arthur stiffens for a moment before nodding resolutely.

Merlin gently raises his hands and places them at Arthur’s temples. He closes his eyes and chants. He can feel his magic flowing through him. 

Suddenly, Arthur gasps.

It is not an easy thing to summarize ten years of one’s life but Merlin does the best he can. He reaches into the depths of his soul and shows Arthur as much as he can. All of the people he’s lost. All of the people he’s hurt and who have hurt him. But most of all he tries to show Arthur the good. All of the rescues and the laughter and joy he’s shared with the people that matter most to him

When he’s done he opens his eyes. Arthur is shaking he collapses and takes Merlin down with him.

Arthur looks up and his expression runs a gamut of emotions. Sadness, fear, anger, and happiness briefly flit across Arthur’s face. When he finally looks into Merlin’s eyes the only thing he sees left is the same overwhelming love Merlin feels for Arthur. 

Suddenly, Arthur kisses him fiercely. It’s hard and sloppy but Merlin doesn’t care. It’s the most perfect moment of his life and he kisses Arthur back with equal fervor. 

Arthur presses Merlin down with his body. 

Wrapping his legs around Arthur’s waist he brings his crotch tightly against Arthur’s. He moans at the friction it causes. His cock is already straining and he doesn’t think it will take long before he spills over.

Arthur begins to work his hips in slow circles, grinding down against Merlin. He groans into Merlin’s mouth. 

All it takes is one more thrust of Arthur’s hips and Merlin sighs as his trousers fill with his release.

Arthur buries his face in Merlin’s neck and comes with a loud moan.

Merlin feels wetness against his neck. Tears are running down Arthur’s face. “Arthur, what’s wrong?”

Arthur is trembling and his voice is barely above a whisper. “Why?”

It’s not an accusation. It’s just a simple question, but Merlin knows exactly what he means. When he was in his cell he thought about everything he’d done, what he’d almost done to Merlin, and why. “I’ve done some horrible things in my life, Arthur. I can’t say that I’m entirely proud of the man I’ve become. But the one constant thing in my life, besides my magic, is that I am proud to be the man that loves you. Even after everything that’s happened, I know that if it meant protecting you I would do it all again.” He presses a soft kiss to Arthur’s lips. “I’m not going to fight it anymore. You’re my destiny, Arthur and I will protect you and love you until the day I die.”

* * *

**26.**

Merlin could barely make out the items in the room. The steady strobe light dulling his senses and casting everything into harsh shadows. The dance floor was packed and the smell of alcohol and sweaty bodies pressed into him as he tried to sway to the pounding beat. Everything passing before his eyes in still tableaus. Alcohol mixing with the flickering lights, causing the world to tilt around him. 

Looking up he noticed a man staring at him attentively.

The strobe lights seemed to make the stranger look ghostly. Blinding white light taking away his colour and leaving a pale god in front of him. Before blackness engulfed them for a split second and then he was closer. His face completely serious and his eyes only on Merlin. 

His heart beat faster as the man reached forward and grabbed hold of his waist and brought them closer together. The tempo was a steady one and soon enough they were bobbing about, scant inches apart except where the man’s hands were burning holes against his hips. 

Unable to take his eyes away from the man’s handsome face. Merlin was mesmerized by the intensity of his gaze. 

The heat was oppressive and if Merlin could, he would get rid of his shirt, already useless as it stuck to his sweat-drenched skin. He was mere seconds from doing just that when he thought about how it would feel to touch the skin of the man in front of him. 

The lights captured the man overcome with lust in snapshots that facinated Merlin. 

Flash of suprise, as if the man could not believe Merlin would dare touch him. 

Flash of lust, as his eyes seemed almost black against the harsh white strobe light. 

Flash of purpose, as he grinned wickedly. 

It was the only warning Merlin got, before he was spun around and the man’s erection pressed against his ass. His groans were silent as the music drowned them out. The man wrapped around him tightly and there was no mistaking what they were doing for dancing. 

Merlin happily ground against the hard press of cock, as the man cradled his head in the crook of Merlin’s neck. The man pressed open mouth kisses against the sensitive skin and nipped at his ears. It was pleasant, but not what Merlin needed. 

Grabbing the man’s hand that was being useless against his hip, Merlin brought it to the front bulge of his jeans. He could feel the vibrations of the man saying something, but it was lost on Merlin. It was impossible to hear anything over the music. 

Whatever the man said, he wasn’t stopping so it mustn’t have been important. Instead he rubbed Merlin’s denim covered cock fast and brutal. 

It felt like an eternity of endless pleasure as they rubbed against each other. The world blinking in and out of existence. Bodies pressed tightly together and swaying to the beat that drowned out everything else. Merlin had never felt so boneless and turned on. Giving in to temptation, he felt himself about to come. 

Spinning around, he roughly ground their cocks together and grabbed the man in a bruising kiss. It wasn’t until both he and the man silently came in their jeans that Merlin could feel the beginnings of sense return to him. 

Before he knew what was happening the man had grabbed his hand and pulled him out into a harsh light of the bar area. Away from the strobe lights, it was like being returned into reality. 

Suddenly feeling shy, Merlin did not know what to say and the world was still spinning and his tongue felt funny. Just as he started to wonder if the bar served water, the man pulled him forward and kissed him sweetly. 

“Come home with me?” he asked, and damn if he did not look adorable like that. 

“What’s your name?” Merlin blurted out, turning a bright red as he wished there was a way he could take the question back. 

“Arthur,” the man said. “You?”

“Merlin.”

“Well, Merlin, would you like to continue this at my place?”

* * *

**27.**

Merlin's shoulders are strong beneath Freya's thighs, and she slides forward from where she sits on his chest, pushing into his chin, his nose, loving the way he feels between her legs.

He licks along her clit, nice and slow, and Freya sucks in a breath. The air in the cottage is heavy with sea salt, and she likes the way it smells, it tastes; she is freshwater, herself, and the ocean is exotic and unutterably ancient when it fills her nose and lungs.

Maybe it's the same for Merlin, beneath her. She's the air he breathes and the taste on his tongue, and he knows her magic like she knows the sea: there is kinship between them, deep and undeniable, but neither their power nor their purpose is the same.

Merlin's fingers dig into her back, pulling her closer still, and Freya's thighs flex as she changes the angle, rising slightly on her knees. He licks again and again, still slow, reverent, his broad tongue building waves of heat within her. Her knees are either side of his head, but looking down, she can't see his face. She's still wearing the new gown he gave her, one he had waiting here at the cottage - Merlin has always loved to give her things, and now that she doesn't need them, Freya finds it easy to accept. The gown is a dark, shimmering purple, the silk cool against her legs, and it pools over his head, covering Merlin completely.

Perhaps that was his wish. Perhaps he wanted, in this, to be her supplicant only, a priest of the Old Religion worshipping the Lady of the Lake.

The darkness beneath her, beneath her dress, must be deep and wet and made of shifting shadows. Are Merlin's eyes open? Does he believe this gives him a glimpse of what it was like, all those years beneath the waves?

Merlin's mouth is talented, his tongue as clever at this as casting spells, and Freya rocks forward without thought, chasing the pressure, gasping as he nudges higher. Merlin's fingers slide down her back, over her curves, and grip her thighs. Over the harshness of her breathing, over the distant crash of the sea, Freya can hear when Merlin's slick strokes change; he presses the flat of his tongue along her clit and holds it there, heavy and steady. Freya holds herself steady too, by sheer will alone, and oh, Merlin's a clever one indeed, because with every passing moment her heartbeat's pounding harder between her legs. She wants him to move, she wants it more and more, but that's the thing about she and Merlin - they have all the time in the world.

The silk of her gown feels amazing on her breasts, shifting with each breath she takes like currents of cool water. Freya palms herself, sliding a hand slowly around a curve, fingertips inching upwards, letting the silk pull and swirl gently over a nipple before she gets there herself. When she finally lets herself touch, she rolls the peak slowly, the silk softer than her fingertips ever could be. It sends a jolt through her, making her grind down onto Merlin's face.

He takes his cue and goes to work, shorter, harder strokes that Freya keeps time with, pinching and rolling. She wonders for a moment what it would feel like for him to lick her through the gown, wet silk slip-sliding along her clit, but she's certainly not going to ask him to stop now, and she also knows it's not what he wants. Freya has the light of the sun on her face, her hands, her chest, coming in warm through the window of this cottage by the sea. Merlin has the darkness, and he has her, and she knows - by the way he's almost bruising her thighs, in part to keep her in place, in part to keep from reaching back to grip his cock - that's what he's looking for.

Soon she’ll be done, soon she'll slide down Merlin’s body and pull him in, and he won't try to roll her over, he'll want her to stay above him. He'll close his eyes and she'll press her elbows to his shoulders, holding him down, her hair curtaining his face, and he'll thrust inside her until he's spent.

Freya's close now, a breath away, the tide swelling deep within her, unstoppable. She loves this moment, perhaps even better than what follows; loves the promise and the certain, sweet inevitability, the knowledge that something bright and glorious awaits.

* * *

**28.**

The sunset’s glow is like dragon’s fire on the horizon, but does it really burn as bright?

Welcome to Camelot

Oh, dear, dear listeners. I have the most amazing thing to tell you! Arthur, perfect, beautiful Arthur, Arthur of the golden locks, bluest eyes, and most impressive manhood I have ever had the good fortune to hold in my hand and to caress the soft, silky flesh as he sought his pleasure -- Oh! A-hem! 

Arthur and I went on another date! He invited my to his lab, where he lead me past all of his bubbling beakers and boiling things and then took my hand in his as we made our way to the back. There, beside a smallish crate that rocked as though it was alive, he cradled my face gently in his large hand and winced as he applied some sort of cream or salve to the burn mark on my face.

“That dragon is a menace,” he said, his voice thick with concern and his beautiful eyes full of worry.

“Uh-huh,” I answered as I leaned into his strong, muscular chest. I drew a sharp breath as his soft, warm lips brushed gently over my burn, unable to contain the whimper of pleasure as he worked his way to my waiting lips.

“Oh, Arthur,” I murmured against his perfect lips as his hand wandered from where it had been resting on my hip around to cup --

A-hem! Well, it appears that Station Management is not happy with my tale of romance and young boys in love so I’ll have to pause for the News.

The King’s Secret Brotherhood would like to remind the citizens of Camelot that all magic has been banned for the foreseeable future. So make sure you repurpose those cauldrons, hide your runestones, and avert your eyes as you cast your spells. Also, the Brotherhood has banned the knowledge of all sorcerers in our fair town. So if you see someone’s eyes turn gold, remember! You saw nothing!

In a press conference that was not held at an undisclosed time and place, the King announced that the shadow that was seen flying over Camelot last night was, in fact, _not_ a dragon. He encourages you to all go back about your business of putting out the fires caused by dragon’s breath and sending the burned and injured to the Apothecary for treatment. He has also declared that anyone not reporting any dragon not-sightings will immediately be throw in the dungeon and flogged to death. 

And that concludes the News!

Now! Back to my date! Arthur had just reached down to cup my blossoming erection in his broad, warm hand; and I had buried my hands in his hair and ground my hips against him. It was glorious, dear listeners! Just glorious! The friction was amazing, and only got better when he pulled down my zipper and worked his hand into my trousers. 

Well! I couldn’t let him do _all_ the work, now could I? So I proceeded to return the favor, wrapping my hand around the glory that was his hard, stiff manhood. The weight of it was exquisite in my hand, and the sounds he made as I squeezed and caressed and drew my hand up and down and up and down -- Oh! It was beautiful to hear. I know my own moans and gasps as he fondled my balls and devoured my mouth in a searing and filthy kiss where a beautiful and harmonious counterpoint.

And then he wrapped his hand around my straining erection and started to jerk and rub and then draw his thumb right below the head of my cock, and oh! It was exquisite torture to feel his hand as it played me so effortlessly. Mmmmmm, the rock of our hips as we climbed our way to climax was almost enough, but! It was so much better when, with a frustrated grunt, Arthur -- dear, perfect, beautiful Arthur -- batted my hand from his manhood and wrapped that large, warm, and amazing hand of his around _both_ of us!

Oh! Oh! Then it was so much better, and it took no time at all for him to rock up onto his toes and --

A-hem. Well. Dear Camelot, I’m afraid I must stop there. I seem to have developed a -- well -- a rather _hard_ problem. So! While I take care of this, I give you...The Weather!

* * *

**29.**

Caelo Cinereo

He was forever one step behind Arthur, hidden, as he kept his friend safe, treading on his shadow, utterly reliant on Arthur’s life for his own, to gift his existence, and his magic, with purpose and meaning. While Arthur commanded the sun itself, Merlin lived the half-life of a phantom. But they were safe like this, living as one another’s shield.

The few times when Arthur momentarily stepped aside, the light was so blinding that Merlin was glad of his work being shrouded deep within the dark, away from the prying eyes and accusations of the peoples of Camelot and beyond. As the spark that smouldered within Arthur burst into a flame and grew ever brighter, ever more mesmerising, the shadow he cast propagated shadows of its own and the brighter his light the longer, darker and less distinct were the edges between the shades of grey in which Merlin existed. 

But when they were like this, their bodies so entwined they could be one, the stark differences between them seemed so inconsequential; Merlin’s rough clothing littered with Arthur’s finery upon the freezing stone, Arthur’s crown locked away out of sight and mind as barked orders melted away, worlds of magic and steel cast aside as Arthur’s tanned skin pressed so desperately into Merlin’s pale, as the same sweat beading upon their bodies as they rut, as their heads press so close as they kiss that their hair tangles together for a heartbeat, Arthur’s darkening with sweat, before the fearless king buries his face into his lover’s neck, safe and hidden as he draws deep lungful after lungful of ‘Merlin’, hands greedy and frantic. 

As they get closer and closer to the edge, Arthur gasps his love into Merlin’s ear, hips stuttering as he spills, slicking Merlin’s insides with the heat he craves, Merlin bucking up to press his own cock into the blond hairs on Arthur’s belly, the rasp and friction enough to hurtle him into climax and at that moment, as his mind is devoid of thought, as his eyes slide closed and his back arches, as Arthur’s thrusts turn lazy, gentle, just shallow movements to feel the slick possession of his come, Merlin feels he can stand in the light that exudes from his king and not be blinded. He can touch that light and not be burnt. He can stand in the sun at Arthur’s side and see the world that they are creating, a time of peace and prosperity, a land of light and, just for that moment, Merlin can feel the warmth and surety of facing enemies, both within and without, side-by-side with his King, words once whispered in secrecy and darkness, shouted joyously aloud in defence of those he loved.

Rolling to their sides, their heads share one pillow, Arthur uses his feet to retrieve and grapple the covers into arms reach and over their cooling bodies, reluctant to release his lover, hands still roaming cooling skin in the secret gloom beneath the blankets, no longer desperate, instead satiated and lingering as the couple revelled in the intimacy.

So unlike outside this room, or this tent, these stolen moments. Outside the bruises bloom deep upon Merlin’s skin when he’s so focused on Arthur and keeping his secret hidden that he spares no thought for his own wellbeing, the blood smears crimson across Arthur’s jaw and taints the golden blade as those that deny his quest for peace attack his cherished home. Outside, the lines between light and dark are no longer the blunt naivety of youth, when the difference between right and wrong, black and white, were distinct and clear and now the shades of grey obscure the light as blood becomes enemy of blood. Here, in this bed there’s only them, painting the walls the vibrant hues of lust and love, illuminating the chambers with whispered words and muffled promises, dreams of a world half-made but radiant in its beauty 

When Arthur lay among the fallen, so long had he resided there, Merlin had _become_ a shadow, and a shade could not exist without light. Robbed of his shield, Merlin was thrust into the unrelenting, unforgiving glare of the sun , blinded and burning away as he watched his friend, his lover, his King approach the gates of Avalon before simply ceasing to be.  
He waited, hidden as he darted from shadow to shadow across Albion. He would outlast the sun if that was what it took to be Arthur’s shadow once more.

* * *

**30.**

Her breath hitches in her chest as she sees him enter her room. The glow from the moonlight radiating off the window illuminates the light part of his face—his grin widens as he shifts over to her bedside—a chaste kiss lands softly on her lips. Her body quivers in anticipation, the cold feeling in her heart gripping tightly. His hands caress the soft curves of her thighs, heating up where he leaves his mark.

It is only the icy chill breath that emits from her mouth that show the status of being. Morgana glares angrily at Merlin—a jealous rage surging through her—she craves that heat, the light warming the exposed parts of her skin. She grabs the back of the manservant’s neck, pulling him down in a forceful manner, lips lock, Merlin’s hands slide up the sides of Morgana’s waist—the dripping tendrils of magic surging through her body connect with his fingertips—a false sense of secure longing keeps her from tilting her head back, arching in the gentle ministrations of his elongated fingers—she shakes her head. Her voice comes out in a moaning whisper.

“It isn’t any use, Merlin.”

Always determined to find the sweet spot, Merlin reaffirms his efforts on this ruthless creature. The heat in his magic touch penetrates through all darkness. She is resisting the pull; even though, she is succumbing on her own accord. His eyes search Morgana’s for a sign of hope—none seem forth coming—darkness is peering out at him through the cloudy irises of her eyes.

For another moment, Merlin has no idea what to do. His fingers find themselves wandering down towards Morgana’s nether regions, rubbing along the slit, watching for her reaction as his fingers slip into her folds.

Ever so brief, Morgana’s eyes roll back in her head. It seems she is really starting to enjoy the feeling again. A taste of heat drips against Merlin’s fingers as he plays with Morgana’s clit; Morgana’s mouth open ever so slightly, eyes fluttering closed and dilating—her body is starting to return to normal, she is going to be the young girl she was meant to be—opinionated and waiting for what she never says—always meaning to go where it leads her.

Morgana’s low murmuring startles Merlin. She is staring back at him now, she repeats, “You should have a taste for old time sake.”

With a start, Merlin wakes up in his rather small bedroom in Gaius’ apartment. The dream is still appearing to him. That night he almost had Morgana pull herself from that darkness. Love is something that we all need—his love is easy enough to give—no one can argue that point.

Is that what Kilgarrah really meant though? That love as to hate, we should never meet on equal ground. If it wasn’t for the effort, the love wouldn’t be worth it in the end. Morgana chose her path, and it pains him.

One of the last words he says to her as she rebukes his final attempt, he whispers up into her ear, “If there is a spark of light, you will never be fully dark.”

* * *

**31.**

Gaius is allowed a candle in his cell in deference to his age and his position, but he does not often light it. It feels more fitting, somehow, to wrestle with the devil on his shoulder in the dark—with the candle gone, there is no fire closer than the warming room, clear across the abbey, and the clouds hang low in a thick curtain drawn across the moon. 

He is a humble, pious man, claiming no lot in life larger than this quiet corner of the abbey he has dedicated himself to. Once, he might have dreamed larger. Once, Uther had made his spirit move within his breast, and he had thought it love, but those days have long since burnt to ash.

They were chaste in all but the secret spaces of their hearts. They stole no kisses, nothing but moments in time, Uther holding Gaius in his strong arms as they rested against each other in some quiet corner, and the mixing of their breath was more intimate than any carnal kiss. It was enough to indulge in this one thing, these warm embraces with the sunshine heating the wild herbs around them until everything smelt of lavender. 

“You will be abbot,” Gaius had whispered to Uther once—for he would, when the old abbot died—and Uther had smiled, pulling him closer, until the rough wool of their habits rasped together. “Are you pleased?”

“How could I not be pleased?” Uther had asked softly, cupping Gaius's face between his hands. “I shall be abbot, and you shall be my strong right hand, and we shall live in peace, always.”

Gaius wonders, now, if he could have changed anything, had he detected whatever shadow lay between them. It is a fruitless path for thought; he curls around himself in the darkness beneath the blanket of his cot, drawing his hands into fists; still, temptation grows, pricking its teeth into his spine, daring him to betray his vows and the purity of their love. He shuts his eyes, though it makes no difference to the night. 

There had been a woman. It would not have mattered—Uther would not have been the first brother to stray from the narrow path—but she had come to him in fright, with a child growing in her belly, and Uther's love had taken hands with his dangerous sense of duty. He had slipped out in the night between matins and lauds, without a backward glance. 

The world has been colder, since that day; even the summer feels dim to Gaius now. Years later, they heard that the woman had died, that Uther was left to raise his small son alone, but Gaius took no pleasure from that news. He has spent too many nights kneeling on the cold stone of the chapel, prostrate before the altar, desperately seeking to ease the grief that squeezes tight around his heart. It is impossible to blame Uther, and he cannot put the fault on the sweet girl Uther loved, for she had only fallen before the same charms he himself did.

He cannot help but think—if he had woken to find Uther creeping from the abbey—what he might have done to make him stay. It is easy to imagine in the dark, his eyes still shut and his teeth sunk deep into his lip. He would have opened himself to Uther; he would have thrown his vows into the mud and given himself entirely to the pleasures of the flesh, had Uther ever asked it of him. 

His cock is hard between his legs, and Gaius is weak, has always been so. The breath stutters in his chest as he takes himself in hand. Uther would have been beautiful in pleasure, a lover who brought the world crashing down around their bed in blazing glory; he would have demanded ownership in full, and Gaius would have let him take it—would have begged for it, begged for Uther to fill him until his cup cracked from running over. 

The night is empty around him; the only sounds are the catch in his ragged breath and the muffled noises of his hand as he strains closer, closer to the pale imitation which is all the pleasure he may take—the only sin that's left to him.

* * *

**32.**

Hunith slowly rolled out of bed, muscles still sore in places that were stretched too tight for too long. The memories of the evening before in the setting spring sun made her smile. Smiles were important since not for the first time the bed had been empty. Other women didn't have the same problem. She heard them talking. She knew that their husbands stayed home with them most nights, and the entire night, unless they were at brothels. 

She blinked at the night sky. It was maybe two hours before dawn, when she draped a well worn dressing gown over her skin. Maybe breakfast would bring him home she thought, just as a brilliant red and golden flash lit up the sky to the east. It wasn't the first time she had seen such things and she had even been told to stay away from it, but tonight she wanted to follow her husband into the forest, into the night. She knew he was faithful. He wasn't like the others.

-

"Congratulations Dragon Lord." A deep echoing voice said.

Her husband laughed with almost mocking and Hunith worried for his sanity because there he stood, staring down a dragon. "You know I worry when you give praise of any kind."

The great beast bowed his head with his own near smirking laugh that some how turned deadly serious with his final words. "This night has brought the future of Albion and the Last Dragon Lord."

"What?" Balinor quickly said.

Hunith had no idea what any of it meant, but her husband suddenly looked distressed.

"The mother of Dragons is here, as it was meant to be." The dragon continued.

At this her husband spun around searching the tree line until his eyes met hers. "No." He whispered not even loud enough for her to hear. 

"You knew this day would come Dragon Lord. She, as your chosen mate, is the Mother of Dragons."

Balinor held out his hand to her beckoning her forward into the small clearing. Hunith approached as a dutiful wife and showed no signs of fear. He was a good man that loved her. Nothing bad would happen no matter what monsters stood guard, no matter the unshed tears in her husband's eyes.

Fingers brushed her hair aside and he kissed her temple. "This is Kilgurauh. He's very old, very wise, and soon to be very much captured by the king. It was foretold that a new hope would be born. One of man, magic, dragon, and myth. I didn't realize…I would never have…If I had known our love would put you at risk like this, I would never have married you. I love you." He ghosted his lips in worry across her brow. "And now you must raise the future of Albion."

Her eyes grew heavy. Breathing became harder. She tried to look for Balinor, try to understand his words, but the stars in the night sky began to fade with the rising sun. Her skin tingled with something she never felt before, and then again reminded her so much of her husband's touch. She called out to him and he whispered in her ear about it being over soon. 

The world spun and perhaps she dreamed the trip to the forest because she laid comfortably on her back with her husband's fingers pushing aside the gown, opening her up. Still loose from earlier, his thick length replaced his hand. The smell of ash and brimstone clung to the air. It was Balinor inside her, Balinor loving her, but she also knew that it wasn't. She felt his tears fall to her face. She wanted to comfort him and tell him it was alright. That she trusted him not to do something like this without a reason.

"I don't deserve you, but at least some of it you will forget, at least you will be safe." He brushed her hair aside and kissed her cheek, while the dragon pumped the last of his seed deep in her.

* * *

**33.**

The thing was, if you’d asked Merlin how he thought he would go, passed out in a ditch and overdosed would have been the top of the list (coke had let him go, but magic was his drug), followed closely by old age (like his uncle Gaius), and a freak accident (being best friends with Will and Gwaine). 

Definitely not this. 

But he couldn’t deny the way his body thrummed with the energy as the blood flowed from the shallow cuts all over his body to pool at his feet. He loved the way the red streaked across his pale skin, almost as much as he loved the way the pain enhanced everything around him. 

Or maybe it was the drugs.

Destiny was funny that way sometimes. 

He’d gotten on webcam only an hour ago, after confirming the payment from DragonKnight went through, paying off his mother’s debt and securing her safety for the rest of her life. In exchange for _anything_ (really: everything).

In that hour, he’d gotten naked, just as expected, then prepped himself and slipped on a cockring before stroking himself to hardness. And waiting. 

On his end, DragonKnight was nothing more than an authoritative voice coming at him through the speakers, simple commands, no heavy breathing, no moans or gasps, even as Merlin pulled out all the stops. But DragonKnight was probably just not getting what he needed.

That’s when he upped the ante, when his requests began to make more sense in light of all the money he’d sent Merlin. The knife, the shaving razor, the nails, the needles were all listed with the calmness of a bingo announcer, revealing nothing. But Merlin knew better. 

He knew where this was going. He knew what “anything” meant. 

The first slice across the back of his hand was too shallow, leaving only a red stripe on the skin. 

“Again,” DragonKnight had said, finally betraying a hint of emotion, and it spurred Merlin on, made his cock leak, his body tremble in anticipation as he made one swift movement across his skin. The blood appeared slowly, then spread across his skin as he pulled it apart, tightening his hand into a fist.

“Show me,” had come from the speakers, making Merlin startle out of his reverie, surprised how affected he was. He brought his hand up to the webcam, opening and closing his fist, making the blood spread and trickle down the sides. 

“More,” was all that DragonKnight had said, though Merlin could now hear shuffling, imagined a man much like the hot blond who frequented the coffeeshop where he worked moving, pulling open his trousers, maybe stroking himself, all because of Merlin. 

Merlin lifted up the knife and sliced once, twice more across the back of his forearm, knowing it wasn’t where the big veins were, but loving the way it felt, the sting, the pain. He had to close his eyes, cross his legs, stop himself from humping up into empty air as the pain began to overwhelm him in its complete lack of purpose for Merlin, debasing him down to being an object for DragonKnight. 

He loved it.

With the blood dripping down his arm, Merlin got braver, his next slice coming across his chest, then his abs, one just above his collar bones. He couldn’t help the moan that fell from his lips as his head swam in the pain-pleasure.

Merlin switched to the razor for his other arm, watching the multiple lines appear in a criss-cross pattern. At this point, DragonKnight appeared to love everything Merlin did, quick, quiet _yes_ es coming from him every time Merlin made an especially deep cut. 

When he pierced his nipples with the large sewing needles (a pain so intense Merlin wondered if maybe he’d pass out before it was over), he ordered Merlin to touch himself. Merlin did, but only with one hand, the other still marking his body, wherever he could: just below his pelvic bone, on his thighs; blood loss or arousal making Merlin’s head spin. 

He didn’t stop, he stroked his cock hard and fast, the blood a surprisingly good lube. He moaned and swore, until words, like every cut were irrelevant, blurring into one, into his submission for this stranger, and into the peace of knowing his mother would be okay, into knowing it would end soon. And he was so close. He sliced across his balls and yes, there, _yes_!

When Merlin came, he heard, “Beautiful” through the speakers, and everything went black.

* * *

**34.**

Merlin had always had a thing about contrast. He’s not sure why, but he’s always been attracted to things that clash, that highlight each other, that stand out.

He loves the sight of a white gibbous moon against the black of the midnight sky in winter, he loves the dark silhouette of a leafless tree against the pink sky of dusk in autumn.

He likes Gwaine and Elena as a couple more than he likes Gwen and Lancelot – it’s nothing personal, and let’s face it, Gwen and Lance are two of the nicest people Merlin’s ever met. It’s the aesthetics. Gwen and Lance compliment each other perfectly, both dark and beautiful. But the contrast of pale, blonde, clumsy Elena next to dark, rugged, suave Gwaine just does something a bit funny inside Merlin’s trousers.

He and Mordred could never have lasted, he knows it. Yes, he liked the man, and they had a good relationship, but his colouring was just too similar. Everything about him was too similar – he needed contrast.

It’s what first drew Merlin to Arthur. When he saw this golden man across the room (like every cliché), all he could think was how good they’d look together – blonde and brunette, pale and tanned. The more they got to know each other, the more Merlin found ways in which they contrasted – Arthur very much said what he thought, was quick to fight but quicker to forgive, he was very physical with his affection. Merlin was more guarded, wary of falling out but held a hell of a grudge, and blushed every time Arthur grabbed him in a headlock or held his hand in public. Arthur watched The Simpsons and Merlin watched The Thick Of It.

Arthur understood, though, when Merlin explained. (He’d had to, had to explain that he wasn’t watching the way their cocks rubbed together but the way their pubes looked against each other’s.) Merlin had to face it, Arthur didn’t just understand, he was a fucking godsend. 

He lay there naked on their bed and asked what would look better against the golden skin of his wrists: the purple velvet, the white rope, or the silver handcuffs? He bought a black blindfold, knowing that Merlin would love the way it looked against his hair. He even started wearing contrasting clothes. It was soon the case that Merlin could tell when Arthur was mad at him because his clothes matched.

But nothing compared to this. To straddling Arthur’s lap, both naked as the days they were born, with a white candle in one hand and a black candle in the other. As they burnt the wax melted, dropping in beautiful patterns onto Arthur’s chest.

Merlin could barely handle the sensation – the feeling of Arthur added to the sight of such beautiful contrast – white, black, gold. The heat of the wax against Arthur’s cool skin. Alternating scratches and feather-light touches against his thighs as Arthur’s hands explored.

He orgasmed untouched, and it was glorious.

* * *

**35.**

Smiling smugly Merlin placed the piece on the chessboard and announced,

“Checkmate.”

“Fuck,” Arthur muttered and looked at the board. He shouldn’t have lost, but then Merlin had been forced to strip off his jeans and Arthur had lost whatever concentration he’d had left by that point.

Why in God’s name had Arthur thought playing strip chess was a good idea?

“Well?” Merlin asked. “I thought the winner was actually going to win something?”

Arthur was only wearing his pants and he stripped them off. Despite his current condition of wounded pride he relished the way Merlin looked at him up and down.

“Bedroom then?” Arthur asked.

Merlin looked at him.

“I think not,” he answered. “I think the prize should take place in the same place with the game.”

“Do you mean...?”

Merlin didn’t answer but swept the pieces off the table. For a moment it looked like there were a lot more dark and light coloured pieces on the floor than there had ever been in the game, but then Arthur lost whatever interest he’d had in the pieces, because Merlin cornered him against the table and kissed him.

Merlin wasn’t wearing that many clothes either at that point, but he was not naked. Their deal had been that the winner of the game was going to call the shots that night, and now that Arthur was here he remembered why exactly losing the game was not that bad thing after all. 

Arthur climbed to sit on the table and wrapped his legs around Merlin’s hips. Merlin let his hands wander on his skin and finally they ended up in Arthur’s buttocks.

One of the good things about being in a long-term same-sex relationship was that one didn’t have to worry about things like protection anymore. Arthur couldn’t help but appreciate the way Merlin always seemed to carry lube around somewhere on his person, even though in this case it really shouldn’t have been surprising.

Another thing was that Merlin knew _exactly_ the moment Arthur was ready for his fingers or anything else from the way Arthur moved against him and even from the way he kissed. Merlin pushed the fingers in one by one and gave Arthur just enough time to get used to them before the next one, but not nearly enough for the burn of the stretching to fade. Even though their sex life was still active and healthy, they didn’t do anal too often anymore and anything bigger than a finger or two inside someone’s arse was going to be a rare occurrence. 

Merlin pulled out when Arthur’s hands squeezed his shoulders a bit more tightly than they had a moment before. He asked for permission before finally pushing in, and Arthur gave it gladly.

Maybe it wasn’t the most erotic thing in the world to feel a chessboard pressing against one’s back when a lover was fucking him on their kitchen table, but Arthur didn’t care. It was _their_ domestic life, and it was no one else’s business than theirs where and how they had sex.

Although to be completely honest, most of their acquaintances probably knew that they’d had sex in most rooms of their house anyway.

Arthur came with a shudder with Merlin’s cock inside him and Merlin’s hand on his cock pulling the orgasm out of him. He missed the moment Merlin came in his own post-coital glow, but it didn’t matter as long as they both had enjoyed the round.

“So,” Merlin asked after he had cleaned them both up. “I assume you will want a rematch soon?”

Arthur raised his eyebrows. As if Merlin didn’t know he could never turn down a challenge like that.

“You’re on.”

Playing strip chess had been a fucking fabulous idea.

* * *

**36.**  
 **Title:** Glow

Merlin had never looked someone in the eye when he had sex with them. 

He had been accused, rightly so, of being a total top.

Merlin had tried, once with Lancelot, and again with George, to have a relationship. To go on _dates_ but eventually his…refusal to switch things up or even allow his partner to be in a position where they were not on their knees in front of him, clutching the headboard as he fucked their brains out, led to them dumping him. 

Merlin had given up on relationships. Sex was good, and he had excellent friends, so he just pretended that he didn’t fantasise about having someone throw an arm over his waist as they slept and he didn’t look at his friends that were in relationships with a gnawing pit of _want_ in his stomach. 

The first time Merlin had seen Arthur the prat was giving the bartender a stern lecture about something to do with wine or tannins or something. Merlin really didn’t like people who were so fucking rude to waitstaff. The next time Merlin met Arthur it was at Morgana’s birthday party. He hadn’t known Morgana for that long but she insisted he attend her birthday party and it was surprisingly hard to say no to Morgana. Arthur was slightly less of a prat at their second meeting…but not by much. Merlin supposed, after the fourth glass of wine, that the real problem was that Arthur was so fucking gorgeous it was a little distracting. 

Merlin swore he wouldn’t get involved after they had known one another for a while because of all the people in the world Arthur, the stuffy, sweet, prat, would never understand about Merlin. 

That all went out the window when Merlin went and kind of, sort of, maybe just a little, fell in love with Arthur and his weirdly noble behaviour, his odd little front teeth and the utterly snobbish way he lived his life while still being there to help anyone he could. Basically, Merlin was royally fucked. 

It all came to a head on a Wednesday night. Arthur had invited himself over to Merlin’s to watch a movie and halfway between Thor descending from Asgard and…whatever happened at the end of the movie Arthur twisted around and kissed Merlin.

Merlin couldn’t help but respond. Letting his mouth drop open, his tongue sliding out to meet Arthur’s. Arthur smiled against his mouth and then pushed down until Merlin was laid out on his own couch with Arthur settled above him. Then Arthur began to move, his hips settling a deep, rolling rhythm that made Merlin clutch at Arthur and pull his mouth away so that he could suck a dark mark on the other man’s neck. Arthur pressed Merlin more firmly into the couch, his hip bone sliding along the hard length of Merlin’s cock, and then away leaving their erections to slide together. Merlin knew he needed to move them but he also knew he had time – he was an adult and adults simply didn’t come in their pants like teenagers. He should push Arthur away, ask for time. Or, he could push him off, into Merlin’s room, strip him down and go to fucking town on that perfect posh arse. 

Merlin wasn’t expecting it, too lost in the fantasy and the way Arthur was nipping at the skin behind his ear to notice. 

Then he did. 

“No,” Merlin gasped out but it was too late and he felt the rush of heat and sensation that always accompanied his orgasm. He began to _glow_. 

“Fuck,” Arthur said and slumped down onto Merlin. 

Merlin pulled away…or tried to, it didn’t work. Arthur held him in place while Merlin tried to squirm out from underneath him. 

“Merlin,” Arthur panted into his neck. “Did you glow when you came?”

Merlin shoved Arthur off him and scrambled off the couch. Arthur reached out and grabbed his wrist in an iron grip. 

“Let me go,” Merlin tried to sound firm but he sounded shattered. 

“I don’t care if you glow,” Arthur said twisting them around until he could straddle Merlin and hold him in place. 

“What?”

Arthur shrugged. “Morgana tends to float a little when she is really happy. I don’t care if you glow.”

“But…”

Arthur smirked. “How long until you can go again? I want to see if it’s different while I’m buried to the hilt in your arse.”

Merlin was silent…but he would probably be okay with that.

* * *

**37.**

The problem is that Merlin has always been a creature of the shadows. He knows he should make a choice, instead of dancing on this knife-edge, but its in his nature. He needs them both, the light and the dark. 

Arthur is where he goes in the dead of night - his secret, a married man, his master, the _king_ \- and Merlin creeps to his bed and is welcomed there in silence, desire burning them both, Arthur rough in his desperation and Merlin ravenous for any sliver of skin, the bitter private taste of Arthur's seed that was never meant to be wasted on him, the thick scent of them together. 

Arthur splits him open with his fingers, keeps his other hand clamped tight over Merlin's mouth because he cannot risk noise, and Merlin pants and writhes with every motion Arthur makes, touching him deep inside where pleasure lurks, sparking like fireflies and catching like a candle's flame until Merlin is afire with it. Arthur thrusts four fingers into Merlin and it burns, he burns, fire and sunlight, wanting this more than anything.

Arthur penetrates Merlin with the curtains of his bed drawn against the candlelight outside, and Merlin's breath coming in wet gulps against the palm of his hand, and he isn't gentle, he takes this as if it were his right (it is, Merlin has always been his to take and own and use, in law and in Merlin's heart). The blunt, wet head of Arthur's cock bumps against the tender skin where he's pushed his fingers in and out until Merlin is stretched and chafed and raw and ready, and then he humps forward and catches against Merlin's hole, and starts inwards.

Arthur keeps pushing and Merlin whines, stifled, and tries to screw himself back, to take this faster, but Arthur holds him hard at the hip and the jaw and will not be rushed. He takes his pleasure how he prefers it and how he knows Merlin needs it, deep down, all slow and hard and inexorable like Fate. 

Merlin's climax comes to him blinding sudden and bright fire white. Arthur spends not a moment later, while Merlin is still shuddering through the sensation and it multiplies, heat-wet-fullness, completion, falling and burning, like flying too close to the sun. 

Merlin cleans them up and accepts Arthur's soft kiss to his temple but he is already feeling guilt for this, for succumbing to the darkness of this love that consumes him.

By contrast, Mordred comes to Merlin in the mornings, when white-pink dawn light is slipping through the shutters, and he is sweet and Merlin lets him in under the coverlet and makes noises for him when he runs his sword-calloused fingers over Merlin's skin, and there's no feeling to it at all except maybe that which Mordred might harbour, deep inside his blackened soul. 

Mordred fucks Merlin face to face in the mornings, smiles at him and listens and does what Merlin begs him for - faster or slower, harder or softer, and Merlin will suck on Mordred's fingers and touch himself until he comes sticky wet on his own belly. Mordred scoops it up and feeds it back to Merlin and comes to the feel of Merlin's tongue curling gentle against his palm, like a kiss, with a smile and their golden eyes mirroring each other, kindred.

Merlin wishes he could love Mordred. He wishes he could trust him, even. But he can't. This light in Mordred surely won't last. Merlin is only trying to eke it out as long as he can, bind Mordred to him this way and put off the bloody future he's seen, pit light against dark and hope he can wrestle victory out of it. Because it is wrong to love Arthur, though it is legal to serve him in the bedchambers if he wants it. It is wrong to have Mordred like a lover despite not loving him. Somewhere in the middle of all the dark means, though, Merlin hopes he can find enough good ends to make it worth it, and if he has to live in the shadows all his life, he will do so gladly.

* * *

**38.**

Merlin's heart pounded in his chest as he waited in the darkness of the closet. He should never have let himself be shoved in there in the first place. The beer Gwaine copiously poured had clearly dulled his reflexes; he'd failed to heed the alarm bells that went off the moment Morgana suggested seven minutes in heaven'.

‘Please don't let it be Arthur’, Merlin repeated this silent mantra as he waited for the door of the cupboard to open. He could deal if it were Freya, a shy kiss on the lips, easy to brush away in the intimate friendship they already shared. Or Gwen, they would probably burst into giggles, as Gwen had told Merlin all about her crush on the new kid, Lance. But remembering the look Morgana had given him before shutting the door, knowing and devious, it wasn't going to be anyone safe. 

As he was being pushed inside, Merlin recognized Arthur’s shape before darkness enveloped them both.

"Umpf," Merlin let out as Arthur, who had fallen right on top of him, squished him. Muttering a quick 'sorry', Arthur tried to disentangle himself from Merlin, elbowing him in the ribs. Merlin whimpered and Arthur's movements stilled. Instead of scooting to the far end of the cupboard, where he could hide, between the weird smelling cleaning products and brushes, he heard Arthur move in the dark as if he was looking for something. Hands touching his shoulder and neck, Arthur seemed to have found what he'd been looking for, curling his fingers into Merlin's hair. He wanted to ask what Arthur was doing, but his friend's mouth was on his and all the air was sucked right out of his lungs. 

Kissing Arthur was as good as he'd imagined. Even better. Arthur’s scent both familiar and intoxicating filled his nostrils every time his lungs demanded air. It was perfect. 

Merlin wrapped close around his friend, their bodies now fully aligned. Merlin could feel Arthur's erection dig into his hip before he could worry about his own being noticed. But Arthur _had_ noticed because he started grinding them together, their denim-covered cocks creating a delicious friction that, even though it was the best thing Merlin had ever experienced, quickly wasn't enough. 

It was Arthur who boldly worked open the button and zip to Merlin’s jeans, pulling out Merlin’s cock, his own trousers following swift. It hit Merlin that this was really happening. Every filthy story Gwaine had told them about this stupid game, bragging about girls blowing him making Arthur had blush, clearly aroused. This _was_ happening and Merlin was going to give him the best fucking seven minutes of his life now the he got the chance.

Arthur felt or tasted nothing like the popsicle he'd tried this on. But it wasn't too hard to anticipate what would make Arthur feel good, where he would be sensitive (no teeth, he got that memo) and when it would be too much for himself to take in (gag reflex was not something to be ignored). 

He must have been doing it right to at least some extent. Though he couldn’t see his face, Arthur was muttering things under his breath like "Merlin!," and "God, Merlin!".

He hadn't really thought about swallowing, but when Arthur came inside Merlin's mouth, there wasn't a choice to make. This was Gwen's house and she was a nice person and there was no need to spit it out onto the floor. 

"Did you... Oh..."Arthur muttered, he fell back. 

Merlin considered it a victory, rendering Arthur incoherent. He got his reward when Arthur regained his senses and put his bare hands on Merlin's cock. He didn't last long. 

Panting, Arthur pulled away afterwards. Hearing rustling sounds, the clink of a belt, Merlin knew Arthur was getting dressed again. 

Outside, Morgana started the countdown. Ten seconds left, nine, eight, seven...

Hands shaking, Merlin hurriedly tucked his now flaccid cock back into his boxers, zipping up his jeans and running a hand through his hair in a futile attempt to smooth it. 

When the door opened and Merlin was blinded by the sudden brightness, it felt like a cold shower. Back to reality. Back to pretending he wasn't gay and in love with his best friend. 

But before he could make out the curious gazes of Morgana and the rest of their friends, someone pounced him; Arthur; pulling him into a wild embrace, kissing him, all tongue and teeth. When Merlin dared open his eyes, he looked up into his smiling face.

* * *

**39.**

Merlin doesn't move as Morgana circles him like an animal. He thinks she means to be threatening, but it makes him think of something untamed and skittish. He waits, and she brings him to his knees at last, one hand in his hair.

"What do you have for me, Merlin?" Morgana asks, bending his head up to her.

"Information," he says.

"Good."

He lets her bear him down, her skirts pooling around them. His fingers dig gouges into the dirt as Morgana opens his tunic. Her eyes are cold on his chest, as if she can look right into his heart. She looks hungry.

Reluctantly, Merlin tells her. The kingdom is in crisis - drought, famine, threats from within and without...

"I know all of this," Morgana says, drawing patterns over his skin.

He swallows, dry-mouthed. "What-"

"You're useless," she says, pinching his nipple hard, digging in with her nail. "I need to know when Arthur plans to strike."

"Strike?" Merlin gasps.

"When he will come for me. I'm sure you've told him where I live." She stares at him like a snake.

"No, my lady." He hasn't. "I am yours."

Morgana pets him now, his trembling stomach vulnerable before her. She has a dagger, he knows, that could slice him open if she wished. But instead she leans down and kisses him, warm and wet, and he remembers that she is a girl, too. She sucks his bottom lip and Merlin lets his hands travel up to her waist, following the way her hips circle, grinding herself down against him.

"I believe you, I don't know why," Morgana says, pressing their foreheads together as she rocks. "I know you were loyal to Arthur before, but even you must see what he is now, how he puts his own fear and hate before the well-being of his people."

"He is blind," Merlin agrees. "He can't see - ah! What's right in front of him."

Morgana sits back suddenly and Merlin wonders if he said something wrong, but she is undoing his laces. Her hands are calloused. Perhaps she has taken up sword practice out here in the woods. He tries to think of a question, something innocent, but all his attention is on Morgana working him with long strokes, and the fluid collecting at his slit, and then she licks the head, licks that bead of moisture and he's not thinking at all.

"Please," Merlin begs. He needs something to take back with him.

"Oh, you sweet boy," Morgana says when she has him, all of him, in her cunt. 

Merlin jerks his hips up, desperate, and Morgana presses him back down, her face intent, her hair swinging wild and dark between them.

"Yes! Be strong for me. I want to feel it tomorrow."

It's a war and Merlin is using all his strength, fighting back against gravity and her control. He thinks about turning them over, pressing Morgana back in the dirt, rearing over her, fucking her, killing her. But he won't.

She rakes his chest with sharp nails and his breath punches out of him, and he comes explosively, thrusting up, up, helplessly into the tight clench.

Morgana keeps riding him until he's pushing her away and she laughs, guiding his hand down to slick through her wetness and his come leaking between her thighs.

"Did you...?" Merlin asks.

"No," Morgana says, "It doesn't matter." She curls up and leans her head on his chest, and Merlin wraps his arms around her, feeling their hearts beating together. The air is thrumming with their magic.

"You're the only one I have left," Morgana whispers.

###

"So?" Arthur asks. It's morning, too early for Arthur to already be dressed and scowling when Merlin comes in.

"Nothing of import."

"Nothing... of import? Did you find out _anything_?"

"She's beaten down, sire. None of her plans have worked, she's alone, living in a hovel, probably cold and hungry most of the time."

"Or that's what she wants us to think."

Arthur paces, hands fisted, back tight with tension. Merlin rolls his eyes. Arthur catches him.

Arthur yanks him forward by his neckerchief and Merlin chokes, then holds his breath when he realises how close they are. Arthur's eyes are stormy blue.

"Merlin," he says. "This is dangerous."

"I know."

"Be careful of her." Arthur releases him and Merlin sighs, relieved. Disappointed.

"Morgana can't do anything to me," Merlin says.

And that. That's the lie.

* * *

**40.**

**Black Light Virgin**

The dance floor’s packed, a blur of colour around Arthur. His last drink is just starting to make his skin tingle when he’s smacked across the back of his head.

He spins, fist already pulled back -- even though Morgana would flay him for starting a fight in her club on a Friday night. Behind him is a kid (barely legal from the look of him) with flailing limbs and a long, lanky body that moves fluid and reckless in the crowd, laughter shaking him entirely as he tries to prove he’s got the moves like Jagger.

Arthur lowers his fist and snorts at what this ridiculous kid’s wearing -- across the back of his shirt is handwritten: _VIRGIN, please help!!!_ The hundreds of black lights mounted throughout the club make the letters glow like a motel advertising a vacancy. The kid looks over his shoulder at Arthur; with those cheekbones, he’s not going to be lonely for long.

Ignoring the twist of temptation in the pit of his belly, Arthur heads towards the bar. He’s not on the pull tonight.

He’s just dropping some bills for his next gin and tonic when he feels the heat of someone at his elbow.

“Hello!” The kid’s bright blue eyes are overwhelming and Arthur takes a step back. He can see the kid’s t-shirt has the star-spangled shield of some comic hero on the front. He wonders if the message scribbled on the back makes it ironic.

Arthur doesn’t get the joke, if there is one. “Nice shirt,” he says anyway.

“Gwaine gave it to me for my birthday!” The words are slurred. He waves a pink novelty cup in front of Arthur’s face that reads: _it’s my birthday, buy me a drink._

“You’re pretty demanding about your birthday presents, aren’t you?”

The kid shoots him a cheeky grin. He’s turned to the side and Arthur can just make out the _help!!!_ curving along his waist. “You offering?”

A sharp, surprised laugh escapes Arthur’s throat. “Does that actually work?”

“Not yet. I’m Merlin, by the way.” He shakes his pink cup again. “I was hoping you’d be the first.”

It’s so blatant a proposition, Arthur finds himself choking on his own spit. Damn, the boy was tempting. _You never let yourself have anything nice_ , Morgana’s always saying. “Fuck it.” Arthur grabs Merlin’s wrist, drags him down a dark hallway and through a door marked _Employees Only_. “In here.”

“Wha--” Merlin’s eyes are wide, but he lets himself be manhandled without complaint.

“It’s fine. I know the owner. No one will bother us.”

“What?” 

“It’ll be fine,” Arthur mutters, already undoing his belt. 

Merlin blinks. “Um.” Merlin’s eyes flicker to his empty cup as though he regrets not getting his refill.

“Top or bottom?”

“Jesus.”

He smirks. “Nope. Ar--th--ur.” His pants and trousers are already pushed down his thighs and he tugs at Merlin’s shirt. In the normal lighting of the supply cupboard, the words at the back have completely disappeared.

“Are you taking the piss?”

“Just a blowie, then?”

“Yeah. God, yeah, okay.” Merlin starts to tug on his belt; Arthur takes that as a cue to grab a towel off the shelf (whatever, Morgana will never know) and place it on the floor by Merlin’s feet. “This is the strangest moment of my life.”

“Yeah.” It’s Arthur’s too, but then again, he’s never met anyone whose smiles make his blood surge like this kid’s.

Merlin’s got a beautiful cock to go with his beautiful _everything_. How he’s still a virgin is frankly unfathomable. He moans like a pornstar as Arthur opens wide and lets Merlin fuck into his mouth. “Oh, God. This is so much better than a drink.”

Arthur would ask what he means but his mouth is full and he’s already found a great rhythm fisting his cock in time with Merlin’s thrusts. He’s seconds away from spilling his load on the dirty cement floor.

They come -- Merlin down Arthur’s throat and Arthur onto Merlin’s shoelaces -- just as someone begins to jiggle the door handle. 

“Occupied!” Arthur shouts, voice raspy. Merlin giggles, tucking his softening dick away. They dress in a rush and Merlin’s got his shirt backwards. They stumble from cupboard flushed and laughing until Merlin freezes. 

His eyes bulge as he looks down at the glowing message across his chest. And second later, he takes off in a run, shouting, “Gwaine, you’re dead!”

* * *

**41.**

Nimueh met Igraine for the first time six weeks after the earth shattered.

“My wife,” said Uther. “Igraine.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Igraine said sweetly as she shook Nimueh’s hand. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Nimueh had heard of Igraine, too – Uther’s wife who he had bought onto the ship. Avalon was supposed to be for scientists and doctors and historians and people who would be useful in the future. And then there was Igraine Pendragon, opera singer.

She had also heard that Igraine was beautiful. She’d seen her in pictures a few times and believed it, but in person she was stunning. The smile she gave Nimueh lit up her whole face.

“A pleasure,” Nimueh echoed.

*

Of course, Uther had a justification. _Breeding_. He was determined that he and Igraine would have the first child of the stars.

“And your blood pressure’s normal,” said Nimueh, finishing their first physical. 

“Can you print the results out for Uther?” Igraine was still perched on the examination table, somehow still painfully gorgeous in a loose-fitting hospital gown. “God. He’s been bothering me about this all week.”

“Of course,” said Nimueh crisply.

*

Her determination to keep their relationship entirely professional lasted maybe a week.

“You know,” said Igraine as they sat huddled at the table in Nimueh’s room, sharing semi-illicit drinks, “He never even talked about having kids until the world was ending. That’s fucked up, isn’t it? That’s fucked up.”

Illicit because alcohol wasn’t allowed on the Avalon and even if it was Uther wouldn’t want his soon-to-be pregnant wife drinking and he certainly wouldn’t want her drinking with Nimueh.

“I don’t know,” said Nimueh. “There’s worse reasons to want kids than the end of the world.”

“I went to the nursery the other day,” said Igraine. “Just to see what I was in for, you know? And all the kids there were just ghastly.” She glanced at Nimueh’s window and shuddered. “God, how can you stand it?”

The window was a smooth square of darkness, scattered with stars. Nimueh shrugged. “I requested a room with a view,” she said. “I don’t want to forget where I am.”

“I do,” said Igraine.

*

Four months into the Avalon’s voyage into the unknown Igraine still wasn’t pregnant. And she had taken up smoking.

The tip of their shared cigarette glowed in the darkness of the common room. It was night-cycle.

“He wants you to check my fertility again,” said Igraine. “Give me a full examination.”

“I can do that,” said Nimueh.

*

They fucked squeezed together in Nimueh’s tiny quarters. They fucked up against the window, with only inches of reinforced glass between them and the void.

Igraine’s skirt was hitched up around her waist. Her eyes were pressed closed. Her back was pressed against the glass and Nimueh’s fingers were pressed between her legs.

She had two fingers up Igraine’s cunt and a thumb pushed against her clit, rubbing her roughly, drawing harsh, choked gasps out of her. 

“You’re wasted on him,” said Nimueh, her own breath coming in pants. She shoved a third finger in and Igraine was so wet it went easy.

“I know,” said Igraine. And then she came, head falling back against the window. 

Nimueh kissed her neck there, and there, fleeting open-mouthed kisses, and then her mouth. Igraine caught her and held her, tongue dipping in.

“I hate him,” said Igraine. “I hate him for making me hate him.” Her head lolled back, tilting so she could look out at the stars.

*

Avalon was suffocating, claustrophobic, rule-bound. The darkness of spaced pressed in around Nimueh. She regretted asking for a window. The longing for earth was a physical ache in her chest, in her stomach, in her throat. When she closed her eyes she could still see the bright flare of its destruction, burned onto her eyelids.

As weeks dragged into months, Igraine was the only light left in Nimueh’s life. And then she was snuffed out.

*

It took a little over a year for Igraine to get knocked up.

A little before the second anniversary of the earth’s death she went into labour and Nimueh found herself standing outside the intensive care unit, staring down Uther Pendragon.

“I don’t care what it takes,” he said, with ice in his gaze, “you save my son.”

The first child of the stars was pink and squalling and perfect. In the hospital bed, Igraine breathed her last.

In her room, Nimueh stared out into the darkness of space.

* * *

**42.**

Arthur lay on his bed, wrists and ankles bound to the bedposts.

He waited.

***

When the sorcerers came, Arthur had no fear left in him. Uther had been dead six months; what was left of his kingdom lay in ruins around his defeated son. 

The walls of the citadel still stood, and Arthur stood upon them to watch as the conquering army--sorcerers, Druids, ungrateful peasants--wound up the hill and through the broken gates. It hadn’t even been much of a fight, in the end.

Three of them road at the head of the procession, side by side: Morgause. Morgana. Merlin. The two sisters laughed together as though returning from a summer picnic. As they passed under the wall, they did not even look up, as though Arthur were nothing more than a curious child peering down at his sovereign queens.

The third horse paused. Merlin looked up, and when their eyes met, he could see that Merlin’s still burned with the gold light that never dimmed in any of them, not anymore. But then he smiled, that sweet, familiar smile, and the cold knot unraveled in Arthur’s gut, leaving him lightheaded.

It was over. Now he left his fate in the hands of the one sorcerer he had ever trusted.

 

***

The room was dark when the door opened, but after so many years of seeing Merlin’s shape skulking through his chambers at all hours, he could hardly mistake it.

“Merlin.” His own voice grated in his ears as the lock turned from the outside. 

“I’m glad you’re awake,” Merlin said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry our council ran so long, but there was quite the debate about what to do with you.”

“I can imagine.” Without thinking, Arthur tried to sit up until the ropes caught him. “So what’s the verdict? Can these come off?”

“Oh, yes.” Merlin’s hand found Arthur’s thigh. “Eventually.”

Arthur relaxed. Even with the gold light obscuring Merlin’s eyes, he could see the reassuring mischief in his smile. “Enjoying having me at your mercy, are you?”

“It’s a pleasant sight, I admit.” Merlin stood up and climbed between Arthur’s legs, which were suddenly unbound. He was also suddenly naked from the waist down. 

Merlin opened his breeches and took out his own thick erection. “I wish we had more time to talk, but it seems cruel to make you wait.”

 

Arthur smiled for the first time in weeks. “Yes. It’s been a long time.”

Instead of a reply, Arthur heard the deep tones of a spell. Instantly he felt the magic sweep through him. Heat surged in his groin, but did not stop there; it kept climbing up through his gut and into his chest as through wrapping around him from the inside. 

A peculiar sensation, but he forgot it when Merlin’s cockhead pressed into his arse. “Does it feel good?” Merlin asked.

“You know it does.” Arthur groaned as Merlin pushed his cock the rest of the way in. “At least I’m finally getting some benefit from your magic.”

“Oh, yes.” Merlin pulled back, then pushed in again with a laugh. “Morgana and Morgause really wanted to burn you at the stake. It took a while to persuade them to do it my way.”

Every thrust was increasing Arthur’s arousal and distraction. “Do what?” 

“Execute you, of course.” 

Arthur gasped. “What?“

“I developed the spell just for you. You’ll feel so good, right up to the end. I promise.” 

“But I’ll die?” Arthur thrashed against his bonds, enraged.

“When you come.” Merlin moved his hips again and Arthur’s cock throbbed. “Which the spell will make sure you do.”

Merlin kept on fucking him, killing him; no matter how Arthur fought against it, the pulse between his legs only grew more alluring. His chest heaved with a bitter laugh. “I suppose I never really thought they’d let me live.”

“If it’s any comfort, I don’t think they’ll let me outlive you for very long.”

He was nearly to the tipping point now. If he could last a moment longer, maybe Merlin would snap out of this magical insanity, flee with Arthur far from these horrors.

“It’s all right, Arthur.” Merlin rolled his hips to stoke Arthur’s pleasure. “Don’t fight it. It’s time.”

As if the words themselves triggered it, Arthur’s balls clenched with the onset of orgasm. He sobbed again from the blinding ecstasy. “I’m sorry,” he choked. “For everything.”

As the pulses went through him, the magic tightened around his pounding heart. Merlin kept rocking into him, tenderly. His heartbeat slowed until it became sluggish. His body relaxed as though slipping into a post-coital nap.

He took a final breath just as Merlin stopped thrusting. “Arthur?” 

Arthur’s eyes fluttered open one last time. Merlin looked down at him, confused and stricken. The light was gone. His eyes were clear and blue.

* * *

**43.**

It was a rare case of unlucky, Arthur thinks. He didn’t want this. No one would want something like this to happen to them. A losing battle to begin with, and he blames his non-existent mother’s genes, out of spite. 

-There’s always a chance of recovery-

He had scoffed at that. Nothing the doctors say was ever true. All they do is give false hope to critical cases like him just so he would fight harder. There was no use fighting, the only thing he wants is to know. 

To know how much time he has, because not knowing when, that’s what’s killing him. Not knowing when he’d wake up to complete darkness. It terrifies him.

Day by day, his vision would get worse; the only thing that helps him cope isn’t the meds, but the lenses the doctors keep giving him every week; each week with a stronger focal point.

Arthur becomes greedy. He needs to see everything he can have his eyes on, trying desperately to store them in his long term memory. In a few months, weeks even, he’d no longer be able to tell red from blue, and he needs to know. He needs to remember.

Sometimes he’d get headaches from focusing too much on his weak eyes, and he’d end up lying face flat on the sofa, with Merlin’s fingers massaging his temples and Merlin’s berating lulling him to sleep. Those would be the times when he’d wake up the next couple of hours, to a blinding smile, bright blue eyes and sharp cheekbones, and he’d reach up to pull Merlin down into a kiss.

That’s what scares him the most. Arthur doesn’t want to forget how Merlin looks like; he doesn’t want to give up the mornings waking up to Merlin snoring lightly beside him; the nights he spends just watching Merlin mull over his articles; the way he’d scratch his belly when he’s tired; his messy hair, his eyes, his smiles, his frowns, his dimples, his long limbs, his everything. That’s something Arthur isn’t ready to let go of, ever.

The next morning Arthur wakes up to nothing but pitch black darkness. He keeps muttering ‘no, no, no’ even when he’s choking with his own tears he could barely speak, and grabs onto Merlin, who holds him tight the entire time.

He spends the next two days moping, saying hurtful words and generally being a dick to Merlin.

Merlin is patient, in a way only Merlin can be. He doesn’t spend every waking hour pandering to Arthur, he doesn’t coo him, doesn’t make stupid promises, doesn’t tell him everything’s fine because it’s obviously not, and most of all he doesn’t take Arthur’s shit attitude. Instead, he drags Arthur out of bed after giving him exactly two days to wallow in self pity, bathes him, and patters around their flat getting Arthur to get used to the surrounding, so that at least at home he doesn’t have to use his cane. He gets Arthur to get used to his newly acquired blindness.

Turns out it isn’t as bad as Arthur thought it would be. Sure he has to read Braille from now on and walk with a cane, but he isn’t always blind. He can still see Merlin’s smile; the way his eyes turn to small slits and how his dimples deepen. He can see Merlin rolling his eyes at his stupid jokes, or at his general idiocy. He can see Merlin’s frown whenever he has one of his meltdowns. 

In fact, Arthur can still see how Merlin is looking right at that moment; head thrown back, his face completely flushed red, brows brought together in a slight frown, his lips parted in rushed out breaths, fingers curled against his bare chest, the sheen of sweat covering his entire body as he rides Arthur. Or the way Merlin grips the headboard as he drives harder and faster into him, hitting his sweet spot every time. The way Merlin wails out his name drives him mad and he comes at the sight of Merlin coming; back arched high off the mattress, eyes rolled back, and his pleasure stricken face. 

Arthur might be physically blind, but he’s never blind when it comes to Merlin.

* * *

**44.**

Merlin was a fucking savant at his job. No really. He was like Radar from MASH only younger, better looking and kinkier. If his boss needed something Merlin would have it on his desk yesterday, even if he had to time travel to do it. The single problem with being so adept, however, was that everyone seemed to forget you existed.

Seriously.

Merlin had been working as Cenred Kings PA for over two years and he was fairly certain the man didn’t even know his name let alone notice that Merlin had been throwing himself at his boss for the better part of a year. It seemed to him that if he were enshrouded in any more darkness he’d be Batman, and Merlin wasn’t quite ready for that responsibility.

Everything changed when he met Arthur.

It wasn’t exactly an auspicious start when Arthur ran right into Merlin while he was carrying a tray of hot coffees. Nothing about that meeting endeared Arthur to Merlin. Funnily enough, Merlin’s cussing him out had the exact opposite effect on Arthur.

One apology drink, three dates and lots of kinky sex later and Merlin suddenly found himself in love and entirely visible to everyone as one half of a modern Romeo and Juliet tale. It wasn’t every day that an employee of King Limited and Pendragon Corps started dating. It seemed even less likely that Arthur Pendragon himself would be involved in such a situation and yet he was.

Even with this new found fame, Merlin couldn’t have prepared himself for the reaction of his boss.

Every day Cenred flirted with Merlin, touching him with some form of intent, until one day Merlin walked in to his office to find him watching porn, an unmistakable bulge in his trousers very much present.

Only it wasn’t just any porn. It was one Merlin and Arthurs ‘home movies’.

“Ahh Merlin,” Cenred leered reaching forward to grab his wrists, dragging him closer, “Just who I wanted to see!”

Merlin stood in shock as his boss propositioned him, not really grasping the conversation.

“--You see Merlin,” Cenred said with an infuriating smile, “You have a choice. You can let me fuck you right here, like the good little bitch you are, or I can show the whole world your little sex tape with Pendragon Junior. How do you think Uther will take it, I wonder?” Cenred smirked at him before looking him up and down. “Either way Merlin, you’re going to get screwed, so you might as well take the fun option.”

“Yes. Fine. I get it.” Merlin snapped, feeling trapped and encaged. He wished for a little of the darkness now and the anonymity it brought him.

Cenred released his grip on Merlins wrists and leaned back slowly into his executive chair, one hand rubbing at the burgeoning erection in his pants. “I think you know what your next job is,” he leered, staring unsubtly at Merlins lips.

Merlin snorted in derision as he placed himself between Cenred legs and fell gracefully to his knees. “I hope you know that when Arthur finds out that you’re blackmailing me, he might just kill you with his bare hands,” he concluded, hands playing with the zipper on Cenreds trousers, prolonging the inevitable for as long as possible.

“Oh Merlin,” Cenred jeered as he waved Merlins hands away from his body and undid his trousers, releasing his long uncut dick from its confinement. “This isn’t blackmail,” He continued as he gripped himself and leant forward to trace the curve of Merlins gorgeous cock-sucking lips with his dick, “This is a negotiation.”

Merlin rolled his eyes in scorn as he opened his mouth to Cenreds erection, lapping at his foreskin before bobbing his head to swallow him down, inch by inch. Above him his boss groaned from either the satisfaction of his victorious plan or the pleasure of Merlins mouth; Merlin was unsure which. He corkscrewed himself onto Cenreds erection further. If he was going to do this he was going to do it well. He would show his boss what he had missed during all those years he had ignored him and what he would never have again now that Merlin no longer lived in the dark and was instead adorned in the light of Arthur.

Cenreds hands twisted into Merlins hair as they forced Merlin to move his head faster, meeting Cenred thrust for thrust until he abruptly pulled off and came all over Merlins face.

* * *

**45.**

Merlin looked at the CCTV and then at the dead body at his feet. "Fuck!" He held the wound on his side and listened to Gwaine shouting.

"Fuck, what was that? Did it bite you? Christ, fucking fae. Light or dark, you suppose?"

"Either. Both hate me."

"You know who we have to call to clean this up."

"No. Call Lance. Not Arthur. He doesn't want..." His vision blurred and he stumbled forward. "...me"

"Whoa, mate." Gwaine held him. "You need help."

"No Arthur. Promise..."

Merlin didn't know how he got to his bed or how long he'd been there before he awoke, feeling feverish. He groaned and heard a soft growl. Next to him was a wolf, licking his wound.

 _'Fucking Gwaine'_ , he thought, brushing his fingers, the only movement he had the strength for, along the soft, golden fur, until he fell back asleep.

"Merlin. Wake up. That's it." Merlin came to, finding Arthur's face hovering above his. "You'll be alright, but you need a little bit of this." Arthur parted his lips and touched them to Merlin's. Merlin breathed in the sweet elixir of Arthur's lust. It lit his insides up, like he'd been plugged into an electrical outlet. He moaned, his cock going hard, and grabbed Arthur tight, rutting against him.

"Alright. That's enough," Arthur said, pushing him down by the shoulders, separating them. "You're healed enough."

Merlin rolled away and swung around, sitting on the edge of the bed. "Why are you here? I told Gwaine not to call you."

Arthur got out of bed. "Sorry you got stuck with me. Lance is working a case. It would look suspicious if he left to clean up another one of your messes."

"Forgive me, Detective Inspector Pendragon, for bothering you to do your damn job."

"My job is to make sure humans don't find out about us and to protect the light fae - which you are not - from the dark fae."

"I'm tired of having this argument. I'm not picking a side. Not ever. I'm not light or dark. I'm me. I'm not going to let anyone own me."

Arthur growled, the wolf taking over his face. "No one owns me. Protecting the light, isn't the same as -"

"Right. The Ash doesn't order you around?"

"He's our leader!"

Merlin snorted. "And your father. And that has nothing to do with why you left me."

"It doesn't. And I didn't leave you, I -"

"I don't want to fight. Just... who attacked me?"

"Werewolf. Probably random. Daft bastards can't resist the smell of an Incubus."

"Christ. I'm a werewolf now?"

"A silly human legend. Though their bite is difficult to heal, my wolf salvia's more powerful." 

Merlin looked at spot where the wound had healed. "Thanks."

Arthur sat next to Merlin, looking concerned. "You're stronger. Gwaine said you killed him in seconds. Has Gaius figured out where your magic comes from?"

"No."

"Well... you're feeling okay now?"

"Yeah."

"I'll go then." But Arthur lingered for a second longer than he needed to and Merlin looked at him, wanting him so much, not needing him to feed - wanting him. Maybe Arthur knew it because of his wolf senses, because he didn't hesitate and had him pinned to the bed, kissing and biting his neck.

"I thought you didn't want me," Merlin said.

Arthur removed his clothes and what little clothes Merlin had on. "I always want you. That's the problem."

Merlin reached down and wrapped his hand around Arthur's knot, breathing in the surge of sexual energy that radiated from him. "Then why won't you give me this."

"You don't understand. Wolves mate for life."

"I know. You told me -"

"For _life_. We only get one. Once I tie with you, I'll never love anyone else. If you find out things about your past and leave or join the dark fae..."

"Oh."

"Yeah - oh. That's why I have to be certain." He manhandled Merlin onto his stomach, covered him with his body, and slid his cock into him. "You're an Incubus. I know you can feel it. I want to knot you, tie you down for hours. Make you mine."

Arthur's desire rushed at him, so thick he almost choked on it. It always tasted richer than anyone else's, making him certain he was Arthur's one. 

"Help me find out who and what my father is, why I have magic, and when I do, I'll still be here, not because I'm light or dark, but because of you."

"It's forever," Arthur said.

"Good."

* * *

**46.**

Two cups of coffee sit on the counter, one black and the other with cream. She brushes the porcelain with her finger. They’ve long gone cold. A trail of clothing leads down a darkened hallway. A stream of light leaks out under a door and her stomach tightens when she spies a familiar blue scarf in a pile of hastily discarded clothes. Her stomach roils and she braces herself on the wall before her knees can give way. 

She thinks that maybe she knew before the scarf. Before the black coffee sitting next to her husband’s coffee with cream. Suspected it years ago in the back of her mind, but years ago isn’t tonight. It isn’t a shut door in a dark corner of her home - their home - when she came home a day early to surprise her husband. 

She can’t breathe, can’t catch air, can’t believe her husband would betray, can’t believe her _best friend_ would betray her. She can’t believe she’s been left with two cold cups of coffee and a blue scarf she saw three days ago, before her husband made a cuckold of her. 

She squeezes her hands, gathers herself, and twists the doorknob as quietly as possible to crack it open. Storming in and making a scene holds a certain appeal, but she knows better. Knows she needs to know what she’s facing, what the stakes are. 

On her bed - their bed - is her husband, flat on his back with his legs wrapped around her best friend as he fucks into him; long and deep, naked and open. It’s horrifying and beautiful and heartbreaking, but what knocks the air from her lungs is how they’re looking at each other. Never in her entire life has anyone looked at her the way her husband is looking at her best friend. The way her best friend returns the gaze. Fond. Affectionate. In love.

The only sounds she hears are the slap of skin on skin and the breathless quiet gasps and grunts. The bed doesn’t even have the decency to creak, not for them. 

She watches until her husband’s body tightens and his eyes slip shut, her best friend’s name on his lips like a benediction and a prayer. He’s gorgeous like this and she hates him, hates how perfect they look together. A tiny part of her hates herself more because she should have known. How had she not known? Traded barbs, heads bent heads in secret conferences, fleeting touches. Piece by wretched piece making up an obvious picture she had been too blind to see. Her vision blurs, making them look luminous and radiant as they move together. 

She backs away from the room, silent and solemn down the darkened hall and back to the coffee cups, one black and the other with cream. The ring on her finger feels leaden and tight and she pulls it off and sets it on the counter. 

She looks around the house. Sees muddy trainers sitting next to an old pair of slouchy boots. Intimate photographs on her fridge that used to look friendly. Tea she and her husband hate. Anger flares inside of her and she grabs her ring off the counter and drops it into the cup with cream for her husband to choke on later. 

She walks out the front door and doesn’t hesitate to slam it behind her.

* * *

**47.**

The warmth of candlelight greets Gwen as soon as she opens the door to her flat. She smiles, toeing off her shoes, and leaves her jacket and messenger bag with the shoes, more than ready to forget the pile of work she'd brought home.

Of course, there's not just one candle, but a veritable little forest of them, at least two dozen flickering flames inside multi-colored glass jars and on dishes and some even in the candlesticks Gwen found at a boot sale more than ten years ago. Their warm glow softens all the edges in the room and creates pools of light on the wood floor.

"You're ridiculous," Gwen says and nestles in on the sofa next to Morgana. Who's wearing a white button up shirt and, well, no, just the white button-up, Gwen discovers and with a sound of pleasure.

"Only for you. There's dinner. And wine," Morgana says. "Expensive wine. Enough to last us through tonight and possibly tomorrow morning."

"Ridiculous," Gwen repeats. She buries her face in Morgana's shoulder to breathe in the familiar, inimitable scent of expensive spicy-herbal body lotion over clean, warm skin. This is her first favorite part of nights like this: coming home to find Morgana with shower damp hair, half-dressed, relaxed, almost lazy. 

Her second part follows pretty quickly thereafter, the part where she undoes the few done up buttons on Morgana's shirt and Morgana slides a hand up Gwen's skirt. There's some aimless touching for a while, with Gwen's fingers wandering over Morgana's stomach and thighs, relearning the curve of her belly and the feel of her skin. 

"I like this," she says and cups her hand over the triangle of dark hair between Morgana's thighs. "The waxing was nice, but this is nice, too. Natural." 

"Mm. You could show a little more appreciation, if you'd like." Morgana smiles and stretches, lets her legs fall open a few inches, and cants her hips up towards Gwen. 

"I do. I do like," Gwen murmurs. "I like how wet you're getting already. You smell _amazing_. Like sweet, musky, spicy things. Good things. I'm going to put my hands and mouth all over you. Well, eventually," she adds, just petting gently over the soft dark hair and slipping the tip of one finger between Morgana's outer lips. 

Morgana's made her wait so long that Gwen's determined to take her time with this. She touches Morgana gently, barely fingering her before drawing her hand away to stroke her breasts and play with her nipples. 

When Gwen's had her fill of touching and teasing, the candles are nearly all burnt out, Gwen's clothes are in a rumpled pile by the sofa, and Morgana's flushed pink all over, panting and begging for Gwen to let her come. 

And Gwen does, first with her hands and then with her mouth, and then all over again not an hour later.

 

*

"I wish you'd stay." Gwen holds up her wine glass to let Morgana refill it and eases back against the pillows to drink. They'd had sex in the sitting room, then the kitchen, so it seemed to make perfect sense to have dinner in bed at half-past ten. "I know you won't, and that's all right. I'm glad you're here tonight." 

Morgana smiles over her shoulder as she adds the empty wine bottle to the pile of dishes on the floor by the bed. "I'm glad, too. And I will, you know. Someday I'll come home and never leave." 

"I know. And that makes me glad, too."

* * *

**48.**

Black knickers against pale skin, the jut of hipbones and a tiny ass. Further up, hardened nipples, the skin now splotched with red. It creeps up a long, beautiful neck, the color blooming beautifully underneath sharp cheekbones. Eyes are downcast obediently.

Each little detail is enough to have Arthur hard in his slacks but put together, Merlin is a breathtaking sight.

Arthur smirks, shifting in his seat as he tilts his head to the side.

“Come here,” he orders and then pats his lap.

Merlin climbs onto the bed, into his lap, and as soon as he’s close enough, Arthur has a hand down the back of his knickers, rubbing at his hole. Merlin’s hips jerk forward as he whines pitifully and Arthur feels his own cock throb in his pants.

He tries to keep the eagerness out of his voice but fails when he asks, “it hurts, doesn’t it?”

Merlin whimpers. “Yes, sir,” he answers, his tone all soft innocence. It makes Arthur groan, hips twitching up.

“My poor little boy.” Arthur coos soothingly. “You don’t want to play anymore, do you, baby? I’ve tired you out, haven’t I?”

Merlin’s only response is a whimper.

“You’re going to take my cock again, baby,” Arthur says next, an order. “I’m going to pull your pretty little knickers aside and put my cock inside you. I’m going to make you _scream_ and you’re going to tell me how much it hurts and beg for more. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. Please, sir.” He nuzzles against Arthur’s neck. “Please, I’m a good boy.”

Arthur smirks, petting Merlin with one hand as puts a finger inside him. He’s fashioned himself the perfect boy in Merlin, so eager for Arthur’s approval.

“Show me,” Arthur says. “Show me what a good boy you are. Take out my cock.”

Merlin scrambles to obey as Arthur reaches to where he left the lube on the floor beside them. By the time he’s managed to get it and get the top open, his pants are around his thighs and Merlin’s hands are on his cock, touching and teasing in all the right ways.

When his cock is slick, Arthur tosses the lube aside, pulling Merlin closer as his slips his finger out of him finally. He pulls the knickers aside, thrusting up to slide his cock between Merlin’s cheeks just to see the way Merlin’s eyes flutter.

He doesn’t ask Merlin if he’s ready; he never does. Merlin is obedient for him, Arthur doesn’t need to ask.

Positioning his cock, Arthur pushes Merlin down onto him, his head falling back as his erection is enveloped by his boy’s warm body. By the time Arthur is fully seated, Merlin is whimpering, whining, twitching on his cock.

Arthur pets his thighs, his sides, slides a hand into his hair. “Tell me, baby,” he says breathlessly. “ _Tell me._ ”

God, he needs to hear it. He knows but it’s not as good if he doesn’t hear Merlin say it.

Ever obedient, Merlin forces the words out, “Please, sir. It _hurts._ ” Arthur sees the truth of it in his face. His boy is caught between the need to please Arthur, the bliss of Arthur’s cock inside him, and his own body’s limits.

Arthur’s hips twitch up, trying to get his cock deeper. “ _And_?” He demands.

Merlin leans forward and whispers, somehow both innocent _and_ filthy, “make it hurt more.”

It snaps what little control Arthur has. Merlin his on his back, his legs in the air, before he can even blink. Arthur fucks him in earnest, punishing and rough. Merlin cries out, helpless to stop Arthur, and the sound only makes Arthur fuck him harder.

“Again,” Arthur hisses between thrusts. “Tell me again.”

Merlin sobs. “It hurts, sir,” he whines. “Oh, it hurts. Please, more.”

Arthur goes down on his elbows, grinding his cock deeper. “I love hurting you,” he says to Merlin. “I love making you take it, baby. I love when you cry for me. You’ll never tell me no, will you, baby?”

Merlin shakes his head frantically. “No, sir. I’m a good boy. Please.”

When Arthur comes, it’s with both hands on Merlin’s hips, bringing him hard down as his hips grind upwards, Merlin whimpering in his ear. He doesn’t pull out as he brings Merlin off, groaning when he feels Merlin’s muscles tightening around his softening cock.

They slump together, Arthur petting Merlin’s hair. “Good boy,” he whispers. “My gorgeous, perfect boy.”

Merlin shudders against him. “Thank you, sir.”

* * *

**49.**

The only sounds reverberating across the room are the soft gasps they make, the rapids inhales and exhales of breath from exhaustion. The room is submerged in darkness and the only lights glimmering and providing some light, only enough so they can catch glimpses of each other, belong to the two almost burnt-out candles standing on the nightstand by the bed, reflecting glints of orange light on the silk sheets tangled around their waists as they move under them and against each other with practised ease. 

They do this all the time, but tonight it’s different, tomorrow everything will change. Arthur leaves in the morning to fight and Merlin stays in Camelot to watch over it, to protect it from anyone who ever dares to come close to Arthur’s home. He stays behind because Arthur has practically bullied him into it, and because as he has told Merlin in a moment of tenderness, there’s no one who he’d ever trust more than Merlin to do this task. Truth is, if Arthur happens to fall in battle, he wishes Merlin to take his place, and he can’t risk taking Merlin with him as he’s done many times before, because Merlin is everything he has now and losing him would mean losing everything. He needs Merlin by his side to rule over Albion, Albion needs Merlin.

It’s desperate, slow but hard, with a hurried pace to it, and both their bodies shake with each thrust of Arthur’s hips. It has the taste of a goodbye, a possible goodbye, that is, because Arthur hopes this isn’t one. 

He stares into Merlin’s eyes, rocking his hips deeply and feeling Merlin's damp breath against his lips before he presses their mouths together and steals Merlin a heartfelt kiss, touching his tongue to the seam of Merlin’s lips and then to Merlin’s own tongue, marvelling at the feel of their wet slide. When Merlin huffs a moan, Arthur kisses lower over the hollow of his throat, letting his hand travel across the beautiful contours of Merlin’s chest, and lower to take a hold of his cock, pulling at it whilst he feels himself tripping over the edge.

When he comes inside Merlin, Merlin’s warm arms tighten around him, as if grounding Arthur to him, soothing him, and when Merlin spills Arthur does the same to him, swallows Merlin’s little noises with a bruising kiss, holding Merlin in his palm as his dick pulses in Arthur's grip. He stays inside Merlin for as long as his body allows him, and he lays his head on Merlin’s shoulder until his dick slips out of Merlin slowly, long after they’ve both recovered their breaths and their heartbeats have slowed to a normal rhythm. 

“You’ll come back home to me,” Merlin says in a rough voice, but he sounds so sure and somehow demanding, as if his fate were in Arthur’s hands solely, that Arthur doesn’t have it in him to say ‘you don’t know that’, because no one knows what future will harbour, how long will it be until Arthur finds Merlin again. War is no game and Arthur is not playing soldiers. This is serious, this is a matter of life and death, and there’s no certainty that he’ll be back, back in one piece or back at all. Anything can happen in the battlefield, and Arthur doesn’t want to make a promise he can’t keep. 

The only clear thing in his mind, the only sure thing he can affirm to reassure Merlin’s worries is something no one can ever deny. He kisses Merlin’s temple and holds Merlin in his arms, needing to feel the warmth and solidity of Merlin’s body one more time, and then, trying not to display too much emotion so this moment doesn’t turn sorrowful, he says, “yes, Merlin, never forget you’re home to me.”


	7. Group C (No Warnings)

**50.**

*

Lancelot laughs.

Gwen loves the sound of it, his obvious delight mingling, warming her as much as does the sunlight streaming across the bed. 

He touches her sides gently, smoothing his fingers across her skin as if he can't help but touch her. 

“If you could be anything,” he asks, looking up through the hair falling across his face, “do anything at all, what would you choose?” 

“Anything at all?” she ponders, reaching out to tangle her fingers gently in his hair. He kisses her stomach. 

“Anything in the world.”

“A maid to the Lady Morgana,” she says after a pause, and he starts to laugh again, “and a blacksmith's daughter. A knight's lover, perhaps,” she adds, just for the way he moves swiftly up the bed to kiss her properly. 

He pulls back as if to speak, but he says nothing, only stares at her for a long moment, his lips still curved up in a smile, before he kisses her again, deeper this time, and although still sated from her previous orgasm, Gwen feels a stirring in her cunt again.

It isn't long before he slides his fingers inside her, watching her face as she clutches at his hand to urge him to the right spot. He feels so good, he always does, so intent on her pleasure that he forgets his own. 

“I am not truly a knight yet, my lady,” he says, crooking his fingers perfectly and leaning in to kiss her breasts. “Hopefully I still past muster?” 

Gwen laughs as she comes.

*

He's different now.

It's not hard to understand why, not hard to see that the years have taken their toll. He hasn't told her of what he did after he left Camelot, but it's clear whatever happened has changed him.

She doesn't miss the way his eyes follow her, either, and she knows him well enough to see the desire he carefully conceals. Part of her longs to go to him, to take his hand and lead him to her bed as she one would have without a second thought.

But things are different now.

She's promised to Arthur, if only implicitly, and regardless of what she feels for Lancelot, she does love Arthur. More than that, though, she knows what he needs, for both himself and Camelot, and she knows she can give him that. 

Gwen loves Camelot and its people, as deeply as Arthur ever could, with perhaps a little more open-eyed understanding than one born into a life such as Arthur's ever could. Being Arthur's wife and their queen will be no chore; Gwen relishes the chance. 

It is a hard choice, though, and Gwen allows herself this just once, a chance to relish what she has chosen to give up.

He comes to her eagerly, but soberly, his understanding of what she wants implicit in the way he touches her. He lets her keep control, squeezing his eyes shut as she kneels above him, working her hips rhythmically, and he gasps when she kisses him and comes, breathing heavily against her skin.

Lancelot gives her his mouth, afterwards, and he draws it out, working her closer and closer to the edge before drawing back, until she's desperate, muscles aching, skin slick with sweat and she can't stop herself from begging.

“Lancelot, _please_ \- ”

It's only once he's left, once he's kissed her gently and silently re-dressed, that Gwen realises he didn't smile once.

* * *

**51.**

They climb through bodies to get to her. They’re stacked carefully around the mesa, head to foot in a spiralling pattern of woven limbs that points up to where Morgana has taken Gwen. The rancid smell is not unfamiliar to Arthur, but he’s never encountered so many corpses in one place. The ones at the bottom are worst, the oldest, and they have to fight through scavengers to make their way up. Every body is placed face-out, the vacancy in their open eyes haunting when Arthur forgets to look away. It’s a startling view into Morgana’s madness. She thinks she’s creating something beautiful, that to kill makes her an artist.

They reach the top at noon, or what seems to be noon. The sun follows her rules here, bows to her artistry. Arthur glances at the stone dais and promptly turns away to be sick. Elyan looks unwell, his eyes wide and forehead sweaty, and Arthur notices Leon’s white-knuckled grip on the hilt of his sword. Only Merlin seems unfazed. Only Merlin _watches_. Arthur wants to strike him, to grab his head and force his gaze away.

They charge the dais but are thwarted by some unseen force, hurled away when they try to climb onto the stone slab and wrest Gwen from Morgana’s clutches. Elyan and Leon throw their shoulders against the barrier, attempting to weaken it, and Merlin just stares, his face ugly with concentration. Arthur can’t do anything but stand there clutching his hollowed-out gut, watching as his queen’s mouth grows filthy under Morgana’s cunt. She’s touching herself as Morgana rides her, grinds down against Gwen’s face and comes over her with vast, whorish sprays. The sounds Gwen makes as she drowns in it are foreign to Arthur, high-pitched and unrestrained. Morgana slaps between Gwen’s legs, brutally and repeatedly, and Gwen’s gagging for it. Arthur is overcome with loathing, hot in his chest as it squeezes out all the tenderness in him.

Gwen’s skin is painted with beautifully crafted runes, black lines curving around her flesh like they belong there, and Arthur feels they’ve erased all the places his hands have touched her, his imprint gone like it never mattered. Gwen doesn’t even look at him, her gaze fixed on Morgana, face pinched with pleasure. Morgana stuffs four fingers into Gwen, whose legs spread wider.

Morgana meets Arthur’s eyes and her lips curl into a sneer. She’s ugly like this, hair matted and skin greying, and it makes Arthur feel disgusted with Gwen. Morgana slides her thumb across Gwen’s mouth, and Gwen’s tongue comes to meet it, lapping at it as she moans.

Still looking at Arthur, Morgana says, too loud, “Who do you love?”

“Only you, my lady.”

Morgana smiles sweetly, but her eyes are flat and violent as she watches Arthur. “And who pleases you best?”

Morgana slides her thumb in alongside the other fingers and pushes, her whole hand disappearing into the slutty clutch of Gwen’s body. Gwen seems to fall apart around her, crying out in long wails that sever the last of Arthur’s attachment to her, leaving something hot and cruel in its place.

Elyan falls through the barrier with a loud clatter, and Arthur sees Merlin and Leon nod at one another. He tries to advance with them, but he can’t. He turns away, climbs down the mesa, kicking in the faces of the dead. He hacks at the corpses while he waits, sword slicing into decayed flesh, and the vultures leave him be. Arthur severs a new limb every time he thinks of how much better Morgana is at pleasing his wife than he ever was.

When the others make their way down, Gwen is unconscious in Leon’s arms, her body wrapped up in Camelot red, and Arthur wants to strangle her, to tear the cape from her body because she doesn’t deserve to be swathed in anything but shame. The ink on her skin has been smudged, and she looks dirty, pathetic.

“You can keep her,” Arthur tells Leon, full of disgust, and Merlin’s open hand collides with his cheek a moment later, the smart sting a welcome distraction from the overwhelming hatred in him.

Elyan’s lips are pressed shut tight, and his hands are shaking.

“She was enchanted,” Leon says. Arthur can hear the carefully contained rage in his voice.

“I know,” Arthur says, and he has known. “I don’t care.” Each step he takes away from them, the truer it becomes.

* * *

**52.**

The lights go out two hours after they get back from the ski slopes. 

A thunderous crash is followed by an emphatic “Bloody fucking _hell_.”

Morgana sighs.

“Arthur!” she shouts. “Did you fuck Merlin’s magic stupid again?”

There’s an indignant squawk from somewhere nearby.

“Shut up,” Arthur says, pausing for a moment before adding, “Not this time.”

***

Morgana is bored. 

The few candles Gwen found don’t really provide enough light to keep reading, and they gave up playing cards pretty quickly. 

She eyes Gwaine where he’s slung sideways in the chair, his knees hooked over the armrest. He’s staring out into nothing, bouncing his feet. 

Making a decision, she gives a heavy sigh and pushes herself out of the chair. Reaching out to grab Gwaine’s hand, she pulls him up, ignoring his outburst of surprise. 

“Not that I’m complaining. Never complaining,” he says, his fingers flexing around hers, “but I’m a little worried about what you’re planning right now.”

Frankly, Gwaine should be more grateful. She’s been turning him down since they met and now she figures… why not? 

“Just shut up, Gwaine,” she says, pulling him along towards her bedroom and fumbles for the opening a little before she finds it.

She pushes him inside and closes the door behind them. 

“Morgana,” he says, hand splaying out on her back. “Is this a booty call? And here I thought you were _a proper lady_.”

She rolls her eyes. Her hands fumble a little before she cups his face and kisses him, effectively stopping him from saying anything else to ruin everything before it gets going. 

Maybe, perhaps, they should’ve done this before, because kissing Gwaine is… well, it’s pretty fucking spectacular, actually. And it makes her think of the thing she threw into her suitcase at the last minute, not quite knowing why, because who brings a strap on to a skiing vacation?

Thank fuck she did, though.

“Wait here,” she says, their lips brushing before she pulls back. 

She finds it at the bottom of the suitcase and a low hum of excitement spreads under her skin as her fingers brush over the silicone. She can’t quite find it in her to voice her question, so she takes his hand instead and closes it around the dildo. 

He stills. “Is that…?”

“Yeah.”

She’ll never admit it, but in that moment of silence she’s afraid, her heart running rapidly in her chest, wishing she could take it back. She should’ve waited until later, when they’d fucked enough to be comfortable. 

But then he groans and kisses her roughly, licking into her mouth. She can feel his hand shaking on her cheek.

“Yeah?” she says, swallowing heavily.

“Yeah.”

It’s difficult in the dark, even if her eyes are more adjusted now. She keeps her hands on him, to feel him, to know what he’s doing even if she can’t exactly see it properly. And not seeing it is almost better, so she can just feel that he’s opening himself up with his fingers, knees pushed into her bed. 

Fucking someone is her favourite thing. She doesn’t care if it’s girls or guys. The way her perspective is flipped makes everything more exciting, more intense. But there is, admittedly, something special about fucking guys. Because it _should_ be the other way around, but it isn’t. She feels the thrill of it the moment she puts the harness on, the heavy cock jutting out from her crotch.

Gwaine lets out a long breath when she pushes in slowly, one hand on her cock and the other on his hip. She fills him up, moving one hand down to feel the way he stretches around it. 

It’s not the first time he’s done this. Well, maybe with a girl, but certainly not all together. She knows because he just takes it, immediately pushing back into her to get her to move. He groans, loud, and his thighs shake as she starts moving her hips in practiced thrusts. 

She’s not uncertain about this anymore.

“Fuck, Morgana,” he says, voice strained. “Jesus, fuck. This is the hottest fucking… _God_.”

She fucks him incoherent after that, loving the way he arches under her. There are little shuddering sounds coming from him as he pushes himself greedily back against her, fucking himself on her dildo just as much as she’s fucking him with it. 

The next time they’re doing this, she wants to see his blissed out expression as he comes untouched all over the sheets.

* * *

**53.**

Arthur waved the steaming cup of coffee under Merlin’s nose until he shuddered into wakefulness, blindly reaching for the cup.

“Sit up, idiot, or you’ll scorch yourself.”

Merlin groaned unhappily, but dragged himself up so he could lean against the headboard. Merlin’s skin was sleep-warm and soft under Arthur’s hand. He tugged at a nipple, smiling as Merlin arched into the touch, before giving him the cup.

“Black, no sugar,” Arthur said as he let himself drop into the chair by the bed. “Just how you like it.” He grabbed his own coffee from the small table beside him and stretched his legs, feet resting on the bed. 

“You’ve never made me coffee before,” Merlin said, taking a sip, and moaning. Arthur’s cock twitched in his boxers.

“First time for everything.” Arthur reached for one of their unsmoked joints from last night still on the table. He lit it, and let the smoke fill him. The room already stank of weed and sex and sweat, he didn’t think adding on to it would matter much.

“Those are my boxers,” Merlin said, looking at Arthur’s crotch.

“You used mine to clean your come off yesterday.”

Merlin gave him a grin and scratched lightly at the hairs on his lower belly. He tugged lazily at his cock and took a sip of coffee never breaking eye contact with Arthur. Arthur looked back and let his legs fall open.

“Aren’t you going to help me with this?” Merlin said, putting his cup on the bedside table.

Arthur shook his head and exhale smoke into the air, his whole body pleasantly relaxed. “I’m good.”

Merlin raised an eyebrow at him, but reached out to grab the bottle of lube from the floor. He planted his feet on the bed, and shifted his hips, letting Arthur see that his hole was still loose and wet from last night’s fucking, red and glistening. Arthur took a shuddery breath. He palmed himself, already half-hard, and took another drag. 

Merlin pushed long lubed fingers inside himself, body automatically moving into it. With his other hand, he opened the bedside drawer and pulled out a dildo.

Arthur let out a groan, hand pushing harder against his erection. He held his joint between his lips, and watched through the smoke Merlin push the toy inside of him, easy and smooth—a long slow glide. Merlin’s body was still pliant with sleep, so relaxed and opened and every single of the small whimpers he let out as he started fucking himself made Arthur’s skin tingle and the hairs on his thighs and arms stand up.

Merlin tugged at his cock and balls with his other hand, never letting his gaze falter from Arthur’s. He gave a small twitch of his chin toward him with a lazy smile.

Arthur took a drag of his joint and got up to crawl slowly between Merlin’s legs. He wrapped his fingers around the dildo, following Merlin’s rhythm. He nudged Merlin’s nose with his and Merlin licked and parted his lips, his mouth wet and opened just like the rest of his body, and Arthur blew the smoke in his lungs into it. It curled warm and a bit acrid between their lips, and Merlin inhale deeply, almost choking as Arthur gave a sudden, harsher twist of his hand, pushing the dildo deep inside Merlin, their noises indecently loud in the quietness of the morning. 

Arthur kissed him, more tongue than lips, dirty and wet—tasting of weed and coffee and sex. 

Merlin let go of the dildo, and started jerking at his cock faster. Arthur looked down between their bodies, feeling soft and strong at the same time, skin buzzing with it. He fucked Merlin with the toy, his eyes on Merlin’s hand. Merlin came with a soft cry, teeth closing into Arthur’s shoulder, toes dragging and curling on Arthur’s calves.

Arthur pushed into him a few more times, earning him a glare and a muffled whine, before dragging the dildo out. He let himself fall to the side, his fingers splayed over Merlin’s come-covered chest. Merlin looked at him through half-lidded eyes, panting, as Arthur licked his fingers clean, closing his eyes.

Merlin pushed him on his back and straddled him, slow and uncoordinated, and grinded his arse against Arthur’s hard cock.

“Coffee’s cold,” Arthur said, hands on Merlin’s hips.

“I’ll make you another,” Merlin mumbled into Arthur’s neck. “Lots of milk, two sugars.”

“Just like I—”

“Just like you like it, yes. Now, fuck me.”

* * *

**54.**

Conscience thought was the first sign of Merlin’s wakefulness. Wherever he was being kept, was so dark there was little difference if his eyelids were opened or closed. There was no sound or smell to be had. It’s like he was hovering in a space of nothingness, if not for the rough ground he lie upon.

He knew it was magic that was used to dull all his senses, because it also was binding his powers as tightly to him, as the binds that kept his hands behind him. He didn’t know who did this, but he had some ideas, only a few magic users would kidnap him, from the heart of Camelot no less. 

His suspicions were confound when from the darkness, Mordred appeared in front of him, lit candle in hand, illuminating his face in a sickly yellow glow. 

“Mordred, what are you doing?” 

“Something I should have done that day, we found you and Arthur in that net. I am saving you Emrys,” Mordred answered, tipping the candle on it’s side. With a flash of golden eyes, the flame detached from the wick, and another flash caused the flame to multiply into dozens of little flames, floating around the dark room like little fiery stars. “You don’t belong here Emrys.”

“Mordred, I have told you before it is my destiny.”

“To be Arthur’s equal, not his bootlicking, lovelorn, manservant!” Mordred spat back, before taking time to calm himself. Placing a hand on Merlin’s breastbone, Mordred slid his hand down, eyes glowing the same bright glow as the floating lights, clothes melting away as his hand passed, exposing Merlin’s pale, milky, flesh.

“Mordred, don’t do this,” Merlin pleaded.

“Why? So you can long for your Golden King? Does it tear you at night, knowing he is sleeping next to his chosen Queen? The woman he chose for love, not power.” 

“Mordred-”

“He doesn’t see you, you know. Not the real you. Not like _I_ know you Emrys,” Mordred lay his hands on Merlin’s skin, forcing magic into him, causing Merlin’s blood to rush and breath to catch. “Like you, I have kept my true power hidden Emrys.”

Mordred adjusted them to kneel between Merlin’s legs, brushing Merlin’s hair out of his eyes, in an almost loving gesture. “Ever since you helped me escape Camelot, when I was young, I have been learning, training, growing stronger, wanting to stand at the side of the great Emrys. But seeing you again, the beauty hidden under the mud Arthur keeps you in, I knew how I could be at your side.”  
“Mordred, you need to stop. _Please._ ”

“Shhh, love,” Mordred tried to lull Merlin’s panic, pushing more power into him, “just give into the magic.”

“No. Mordred not like this,” Merlin shook, sweat beading on his skin trying to fight the spell.

“I can make you feel so good. Better than your Golden King, who doesn’t deserve to kiss your feet.” Mordred lightly dragged his finger tips down, taking pleasure in Merlin leaning into his touch. 

“There are parts of you, that are enjoying this,” Mordred firm grip on Merlin’s hardened cock, caused the warlock's head to tip back, and release a strangled moan, “very important parts, Emrys.”

“It’s not real...just a...byproduct...of your magic.”

“Yes, but one day it will be. You’ll yearn for my touch, for the power will create when we are together,” Merlin’s cock pulsed under Mordred hand, as he worked his hand over the shaft. Merlin, try as he might, could not stop his body from its shallow, erratic thrusts.

“You move so beautifully Emrys, I bet you’ll move exquisitely under me.”

“No, no nonono.” 

“Calm yourself Emrys, that I’ll wait for. But until then-” Mordred pushed one finger inside Merlin,  
gradually, until it was buried to the hilt. “Oh Emrys, you feel so good.”

Moving his finger in time with his hand on Merlin’s cock, Mordred sent tendrils of magic deep into Merlin’s channel, letting it play along every nerve. Focusing on his prostate, Mordred pushed a spark of magic, milking the bundle of nerves. Merlin screamed, till his voice was hoarse from having an orgaism forced from him. 

“See my love,” Mordred, lay kisses on Merlin’s hip feeling the older man trimble under his lips, “see how fierce our passion can be? What _he_ can never give you?”

“No, never-”

“Hush, love.” Mordred stood, eyes flashing one last time, cloaking the room in darkness, “don’t worry, will try again tomorrow.”

* * *

**55.**

Arthur stretches his arms up and watches as Merlin paints a thick black line across Arthur's wrists and onto the canvas. It tickles a bit and make's Arthur twitch.

"Don't move," Merlin says absently, and of course that makes Arthur's nose itch.

"I know the drill, Merlin. Just do your thing."

It isn't the first time Arthur has modeled for Merlin's photo shoots. It's not even the first time he's modeled naked, though the paint is new.

Merlin dips his brush into the white body paint and flicks it across Arthur's chest. A small drop lands on Arthur's chin, and Arthur struggles not to squirm.

"It's not right," Merlin says. "I think... yeah, hold on."

Merlin gets up and runs out of the room, leaving the wet brush lying on Arthur's stomach. Arthur can feel the wet paint slowly pooling in his navel, and he has to tighten his muscles in order to stay still and not ruin Merlin's artwork.

"What are you doing?" he asks to distract himself. He wishes Merlin would tell him in advance what he's planning, but Merlin is as secretive about his process as he is about everything else. Sometimes Arthur thinks they're best friends, other times he's left wondering if he even knows who Merlin is at all.

Merlin comes back with a can of shaving cream and a razor. "I have to clear the surface." His cheeks tint red. "If that's all right."

Arthur almost says yes, then realizes what Merlin means. His mouth feels dry, and he really can't stop his cock from twitching, no matter how hard he works to keep his body still. He takes several deep breaths and quietly says, "Okay."

He closes his eyes so that he doesn't have to watch, because he doesn't think he can handle _seeing_ Merlin touch him like that.

"Oh, that's good," Merlin mumbles, and a moment later a cold liquid is brushed across eyelids. 

Arthur tells himself he's keeping his eyes closed to let the paint dry. He wonders what color Merlin used, whether the line across his face is black or white, and then he's distracted out of his thoughts by the sound of the first dab of gel on his skin.

It's cold, and that's a relief right until Merlin puts his hand on Arthur's thigh. "Don't move," Merlin says again, then brings the razor down just inches away from where Arthur's cock starts. The razor moves down in short strokes, and every time the blade touches his skin it feels like static buzzing inside him.

Merlin doesn't mention Arthur's growing erection at all, and Arthur isn't sure whether to be grateful or not. He dares to open his eyes, and the first thing he sees is Merlin bending low. If he lowered himself just a few more inches--

Arthur gasps and jolts away, smearing the paint on his wrists.

Merlin frowns at him. "Stop that. I'm almost done." 

It takes three swallows before Arthur can say, "Then get on with it." 

"Almost done" is not quite true though, because Merlin gingerly touches Arthur's dick and pushes it aside so he can smear shaving gel over Arthur's balls. _Fuck._ Arthur's thigh twitches with the effort to keep still. A part of him is terrified that something could go wrong, but Merlin's hands are steady as he slowly strips the hair from Arthur's balls. 

Arthur is completely hard by the time Merlin gently towels Arthur clean. And now Merlin is just _staring_ at him, staring at the evidence of how much Arthur wants Merlin, with his cock looking even larger without his pubic hair to hide anything. 

Pendragons are no cowards though. "Merlin, I--" he starts, but Merlin cuts him off.

"Don't worry, I know. Automatic reaction." Merlin dips his paintbrush into the black paint and uses it to paint Arthur's right palm completely in black. "Grab your cock," he says, and Arthur obeys because he can't think of doing anything else.

"Stroke yourself," Merlin says as he stands up to grab his camera. "And close your eyes."

Arthur does, using the paint as lube, probably spreading drops all over his newly shaved skin. He hears the click of the camera, and all he can think of is that _Merlin is watching_ , and it's better than any fantasy. When he orgasms, his movements smear the paint even more, black and white and come growing sticky and stale all over the canvas of his skin.

* * *

**56.**

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Arthur shouted over the music.

“You needed a break and we both know it. Now go get ‘em, tiger.”

The slap on the back caught Arthur off guard, and he stumbled. Once he regained his footing, he turned back to shoot his friend a glare, though it was rather ineffective given they wouldn’t see it in the dark.

When he’d been told the place was called _Blackout_ , Arthur hadn’t thought that would be the _theme_.

Still, it was probably for the best. If the tabloids caught wind of what he’d done, his father would have a meltdown. He could see the headlines now: _Prince Arthur Gone Wild_ , as if he was still a teenager and not in his twenties.

On the dance floor, Arthur was surrounded by faceless people, all of them cramped together and touching each other; finally a song came on that he distantly recognised, and slowly he began loosening up, trying to go with the flow of things as he began dancing.

This wasn’t working. He was supposed to be _relaxing_ , but he was just becoming more tense. Arthur was just considering walking away from the floor when suddenly there were hands on his hips.

“Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” came the (male) voice in his ear when Arthur started in surprise. 

“No, it’s...fine,” Arthur told him.

“You want to dance?” the voice asked.

“Sure,” Arthur said, and immediately the other man was pressed up against his back, moving his hips in time with the beat.

When the man spoke in his ear again, his voice sounded breathless. “What’s your name?” he asked. Arthur shook his head, and he felt the man shrug. “Okay, no names. That’s fine.”

It was a shame, really, because Arthur would liked to have known who they were, but it was better this way; plausible deniability and all that.

They danced together for a few more songs before the voice came again. “What do you say we get to know each other off the dance floor?”

“Yeah, yes,” Arthur answered, almost too quickly if the low chuckle in his ear was any indication. The man took his hand and pulled Arthur along after him, walking easily as if the entire place wasn’t almost pitch black and made it impossible to see where one was going.

Once they came to a stop in an area apparently free of other people, the other man leaned in close again. “Mind if I give you a blowjob?”

Part of Arthur wanted to say no, just because he was the _prince_ and he was supposed to be the perfect son and if it got out...

But he wanted to say yes more.

“Okay,” he said, swallowing nervously as the man’s hands began travelling down his body, and when he felt his zipper being undone he knew the man had gotten to his knees. He was already getting hard when his cock was brought out into the open, and the man stroked it gently, making sure it was slick before Arthur felt a condom being rolled on.

The next thing Arthur knew, there was heart on his cock before a warm, wet mouth enveloped it, felt even through the latex. Almost without meaning to, his hands found the man’s hair, tangling in it as he threw his head back.

He probably should have asked before doing that, but the man didn’t seem to mind, if the way he was swallowing Arthur down was any indication, humming around it and causing Arthur’s knees to grow weak at the feeling.

It only took a few minutes before Arthur was coming, hard, and then the condom was being removed before the man stood up and kissed Arthur, hard.

He tasted of latex, but it was still the best kiss Arthur had ever had as he responded with enthusiasm. Eventually, though, the man pulled away, and Arthur did most definitely not whimper at the loss.

“Thank you,” he said, almost too lowly to be heard, but the man did.

“Thank _you_ ,” he returned. “Maybe I’ll see you around?”

Before Arthur could respond, however, the man was gone, leaving him to sag against the wall in disbelief and hope, in some corner of his mind, that they would run into each other again in the future.

* * *

**57.**

"Wakey wakey! Rise and shine!" The harsh rattle of curtains being dragged too fast on their hangers made him flinch, but it was sufficient warning for Merlin to squeeze his eyes tightly shut even before he was awake enough to understand what was happening.

The sunlight was burning through his eyelids into Merlin's eyeballs. If he opened his eyes, he would be instantly blinded, and possibly turned into a pile of ash. "Go away," he moaned, and waved a hand feebly in the direction of the smug satisfaction he could practically feel radiating from the window. "I mean it. And shut the curtains on your way out."

"No, Merlin. It's time for you to wake up. This is payback for all the times you woke me in ridiculous ways," said the insufferable, sadistic bastard from way too close, damn his silent warrior's feet. Why had he written the Golden King as a graceful warrior and not a lumbering hippo?

Or a better question would be, why was this overly cheerful figment of his imagination still here and not gone like the dream or insomnia-induced hallucination Merlin had assumed him to be? He felt the blanket flip to the side, and kicked out instinctively at the touch of a hand to his ankle. 

"Oof!" his tormenter said, and vindictive pride warmed him and eased some of the burning from the red glare on his poor eyelids.

"You're a bloody comic book character; you're _my_ bloody comic book character that I designed, and that I draw and write for; fucking leave me alone or I will make you fall in love with a smelly, horseshit-eating troll in the next bloody issue, you royal arse."

A huff of amusement, and then strong hands clamped over his ankles, pinning them in place. "You've got the wrong king for that," said the King, in warmly amused tones."Come on, wake already."

A weight settled on the bed between his legs. Oh, the King wasn't trying to tickle him, then. Merlin kept his eyes closed against the light, stubbornly, and obligingly spread his legs wider to let his persistent hallucination shuffle closer on the bed, and the callused hands slid up his legs to frame his bared privates, thumbs circling over the sensitive innermost area of his inner thighs.

Merlin shivered, and both he and his cock sprang to alertness in pleasant anticipation, remembering the things they did last night, when he'd thought that he was only dreaming the whole thing.

He gasped and jerked in the King's firm grip when, instead of going straight for his arse or swallowing him down, the King exhaled hotly over his cock, taunting. "What-" he managed, before a light lick over his cockhead made him jump again, and was followed by barely-felt kisses and licks over his thighs, the length of his cock.

"What are you doing, Pendragon," he demanded, squirming as the gentle evil mouth teased its way to his aching balls and the cruel tongue pressed briefly on his taint, pulling pleasure from deep inside, and his feet clenched in desperate reaction. Reaching out blindly, he failed to grab the infuriating man, and the ticklish touches stopped. He clutched at the sheets, and whimpered, still pinned to the bed. "Please, what do you want?"

In answer, Pendragon nipped his inner thigh, fiercely, and as he yelped and flailed, crawled up to press their bodies together -- face to face, chest to chest, belly to belly, straining cock to straining cock. He pulled back, and pushed down again, rubbing them together, and Merlin grabbed his back and pressed close in relief, amazed at how easy he found their closeness, even though Pendragon was an imaginary man and didn't really exist. Perhaps he had gone mad.

He felt Pendragon's cheek brush over his lips, too bristly for fantasy, and accepted the hard, invasive kiss Pendragon pressed on him, their mutual morning breath be damned, the glare on his lids relieved by the man's bloody big head. When they had to stop for air, still rocking into each other, more for comfortable pleasure than urgent need, Pendragon spoke, very softly, and Merlin had to strain to catch his words.

"I want you to open your eyes," he said, and Merlin did, inhaling deeply as his eyes burned hot with inexplicable tears at the way the sun turned Arthur's bright golden hair into a halo, "and remember me."

"I do," Merlin answered, and shuddered against him.

* * *

**58.**

The ship’s long and narrow and lacking even the smallest spark of life, and Arthur curses Uther’s gambling habits one last time.

It’s an old _Emrys 2099_ , a model discontinued more than a century ago. But all Arthur’s got is a handful of credits and the small crystal cone tucked haphazardly, miraculously in the back of Uther’s safe, so he treats his days of piloting speedy _Jaguars_ to a sober goodbye and embraces his new home for the foreseeable future.

Well, he kicks the door in a fit of frustration, but close enough. 

On the upside, he doesn’t need to trade his liver for any of the spare parts, but then he nearly loses an arm and a leg trying to retrieve them from tottering heaps of discarded junk on the moons of Athos. He nearly loses his nose, too, but it turns out only to be a little bit broken.

It takes him five months of hope, oddly akin to desperation, and using his last credits to key in coffee orders brought by a city service robot, who when asked what he thinks tells Arthur politely, ‘Terrible paint job, sir.’

His hands tremble only slightly when he finally slots the crystal into place, but when the ship lights up like a beacon, he shakes all over with laughter that sounds a lot like relief.

*

Most of the fresh paint flakes off on the very first trip, leaving the scratchy blue and faded red-gold insignia, but Arthur’s too preoccupied those first months to puzzle over it for long. 

The ship keeps throwing him off his game: suddenly goes dark at the most inconvenient times, or ever so slightly off course. But he’s Arthur Pendragon, godammit, and if anyone can make the _Emrys_ obey, it’s him. 

Or so he keeps telling himself while he’s reduced to petting the instrument board and whispering, ‘Come on, sweetheart,’ in a desperate last attempt to cajole it into not crashing them into a meteor just off Carlion. 

After his muscles stop seizing up in terror, Arthur makes a mental note that this tactic seems to work better than cursing at it.

*

He refuses to transport human cargo, preferring long, solitary flights; forgets the friends that forgot him as soon as his credit ran out.

He follows into his father’s footsteps: quietly floats through space in a metal container, except with more breathing and light and less likelihood of being sucked into someone’s rotor. 

Of course, with the _Emrys_ , you never know. 

*

He doesn’t need anyone. He doesn’t. 

So why he’s hallucinating a man practically sitting in his lap is anyone’s guess. Also why he’s glowing like the odd light cones Arthur never needs to replace, so different from modern artificial light. Space craziness is on Arthur’s list of possibilities. It’s a very short list.

The man reaches out and strokes up his cock, where it lies wetly and forgotten against Arthur’s stomach, then curiously licks his fingers. 

‘Excuse me!’ says Arthur, strangled, because unusually glowy man or no, that’s just rude. 

The man scowls and says, like he just remembered, ‘Stop abusing the thrusters. They’re about to give out.’ 

Then he’s gone. The lights flicker as if to underline a point.

‘Right. Going crazy,’ Arthur says. ‘Check.’

The sudden darkness feels weirdly disappointed.

* 

(There’s a war on Trevena. Arthur doesn’t mean to break his rule, but if people find their way into his cargo bay and manage to sneak onto Aspis, well, he can’t help it, can he?)

*

‘Do I know you?’ the man says when he suddenly appears in the shower, looking puzzled.

Arthur drops the soap.

*

Merlin doesn’t remember where he’s from, or how old he is.

He glows like the ship; his skin hums like it, too. He touches himself like he doesn’t remember being human, either. 

It takes him a few appearances to remember how to smile, but when he does, Arthur smiles back.

*

Arthur learns not to give Merlin any coffee if he doesn’t want the ship to shake.

Merlin learns about chocolate, and about getting himself off, which he does with abandon, shameless under Arthur’s gaze; then about fucking himself on Arthur’s cock with his head thrown back. 

The lights go out a lot, but Merlin’s eyes shine golden. 

*

‘For a ship, you’re weirdly into biting.’

‘For a human, you’re weirdly not too bad.’

*

‘You should be nicer to people. It would be a shame if I had to find a new pilot just because someone stabbed you for being an idiot.’

‘Shut up, Merlin.’

*

Arthur doesn’t need anyone. He doesn't. 

He’s got his ship, after all.

* * *

**59.**

Ygraine looks like she’s swallowed the sun. Her belly is round, the rest of her almost comically unchanged with her pregnancy (Alice assures them it is often so with first pregnancies, that Ygraine’s slenderness is not a sign of illness), and Nimueh can feel her magic crawling under Ygraine’s skin, making a life that is waiting to get out. It’s a little horrifying and a little fascinating, knowing that her magic and Uther’s seed did this. More horrifying than fascinating, with the exchange of lives almost upon them.

Tonight, Ygraine reclines on the pillows like the queen she is while the King of Camelot kisses his way across her belly, and Nimueh finds them so as she slips into their chambers. Uther does not look up, but Ygraine reaches out. “We expected you long ago.”

Nimueh goes to them. She curves her hand around the back of Uther’s skull in an easy motion on her way to Ygraine’s side, leaning in to kiss her and then him when he deigns to look up. “And when the Queen and King of Camelot are sequestered in their chambers, who do the people go to with their problems?”

“Poor love.” Ygraine pulls at her arm until she climbs into the bed, shedding her gown as she goes with a spell, frivolous as the use of magic is. “Gaius left a few minutes before you came.”

Nimueh looks up sharply, first at her and then at Uther. “And?”

“If not tomorrow, then the next day.” Ygraine’s face is shining, and Nimueh has never hated herself like this, has never questioned her own judgment so. Ygraine is a soft heart, and would not be able to stand the thought of someone dying that her heir might live, but should they have told her anyway? What will she do if it is one of them who falls dead when her child draws breath? What price do the gods consider worthy of an heir?

(In her worst, most terrible nightmares, they lose Ygraine, but the gods cannot be that cruel. She’s the center—of their bed, of Camelot. What would Nimueh and Uther do without her?)

“And we will have a child to raise.” She kisses Ygraine again, and then draws Uther up the bed to kiss him as well. He nips at her lip, and she bites back, a little harder. This risk was his idea. Nimueh offered to bear him a child in Ygraine’s name, but she was intoxicated by the idea of a child that will be truly all three of theirs.

“A crown prince for Camelot,” says Uther, all male triumph and dynasty.

“A princess to learn the Old Religion,” Nimueh counters.

Ygraine laughs. “The two of you. Come, do we wish to spend our last night without an infant to care for squabbling? Kiss and make peace.”

Nimueh knows what she means by that. It’s something she’s asked for more, as the pregnancy makes her exhausted and too round to move comfortably. She wants to watch them. By now, it’s easy to exchange looks with Uther to see where they ought to move, and how. They may not always like each other, she and Uther, but they understand one another, and there is no denying they want each other.

Tonight, Nimueh rolls the great warrior to his back so he can keep a hand on his queen’s stomach, feel the kick of life there. He’s all scar and callus, as any man who takes a kingdom by force must be. He is a conqueror by nature, her king, but sometimes he allows himself to be conquered.

Uther takes her by the hips, and Nimueh sinks down on his cock, falling easily into the well-known rhythm. They are both gentle with Ygraine, unless she fights them into roughness, but they are never easy on each other. The sex is a battle, and Nimueh doesn’t care which of them wins, because tonight especially it’s for Ygraine’s pleasure. Her eyes are heavy on them.

Nimueh rides Uther and gives him neither quarter nor mercy, not that he would ask for it. Ygraine breathes heavily next to them, biting her lips until they’re red, and they give her what she wants. They’ll always give her what she wants, even a child, even the life that child will take.

 _I hope it’s yours,_ she thinks, meeting Uther’s eyes, and comes knowing Uther is thinking the same.

Beside her, she feels the magic spark to life.

* * *

**60.**

It isn’t anything big that draws his attention to it, nothing specific, but Merlin just has this— inclination, this off feeling when he stops and thinks about it long enough.

It’s in the slant of his mouth, the hard steel-glint of his eyes, and the way his hands feel on Merlin’s skin: harder, rougher. Possessive.

Now that Merlin’s seen it, he can’t unsee it: can’t pretend that the man that walked out of the lake is the same one he reverently placed in a boat and set adrift.

Can’t deny the fact that the man he loves came back different.

When the first body turns up, Merlin doesn’t think anything of it; he doesn’t even recognise the bloke until the news report says he’d been found outside the hospital where he used to work. Merlin remembers then: he was the nurse who turned Merlin away from visiting his mum, saying it was outside visiting hours. 

“You didn’t hurt him, did you?” Merlin asks, not expecting an answer.

“I didn’t like the way he talked to you,” Arthur says, and Merlin tries to tamp down the sick feeling in his stomach.

When Merlin is fired from his job at the garden centre, his boss turns up a week later, his neck snapped and Merlin just knows the hands that snapped that neck are the ones that touch him every night.

“You can’t keep doing this, Arthur,” Merlin says, fear coiled tight in his lungs.

“I know.” Arthur bows his head and he looks like a child. “I just have these feelings. I get so angry that I can’t help myself— I don’t know what’s happening to me, Merlin.”

Merlin tries not to cry when Arthur clings to him, his face pressed into his neck and whispers, “I’ve just missed you so much.”

When the woman from Number 8, who called Merlin a creepy little faggot gets discovered in her bedroom, smothered by a pillow, Merlin has no choice but to act.

“What do I have to do?” Merlin asks, “to make you stop?”

“I don’t know,” Arthur says, and he sounds so lost that Merlin has to reach out and lay a hand on Arthur’s cheek, stroke his cheekbone with his thumb. He realises he isn’t scared of him, he’s scared _for_ him and that’s quite a distinction.

“If you hurt me—” Merlin says, “would that help?”

Arthur reels back like he’s been shot. “I could never hurt you,” he says. “Never.”

“But what if I let you?” Merlin asks. “What then?”

He grabs Arthur’s hand and places it on his throat. Arthur’s eyes widen in horror and he pulls it away. Merlin just smiles. “It’s okay,” Merlin says, “I can stop you if it goes too far. Magic, remember?”

Merlin leads Arthur to the bed and they kiss: open-mouthed, obscene. Merlin strips his clothes off, only pausing the kiss to pull his t-shirt over his head. He unzips Arthur’s jeans, pushes his underwear aside and rides him slowly, Arthur’s cock driving deep inside him.

When Arthur’s hand wraps around his throat, Merlin isn’t the least bit frightened. He pushes forward and groans when Arthur’s thumb presses into his carotid.

“You like this?” Arthur asks, awed.

“I like you,” Merlin says, “I love you. This is killing you, Arthur. So do it.”

Arthur digs his fingers in and holds Merlin tight around the throat while Merlin fucks himself on Arthur’s cock. When Merlin comes, he can’t breathe for a minute. Sparks dance in front of his eyes and Arthur flips them over, works his cock deep into Merlin’s body.

When Arthur comes deep inside Merlin, his hand still wrapped around Merlin’s throat, he looks like himself again, beautiful and unattainable and golden.

Merlin has finger-shaped bruises around his throat like a necklace, and Arthur digs into them with his thumbs and whispers, “Thank you. I thought maybe you’d make me leave.”

Merlin shakes his head and kisses Arthur once, a quick brush of lips. “Never. You’re never leaving me again.”

When the waiter at dinner a week later looks down his nose at Merlin, and Arthur looks homicidal, Merlin placates him with a hand on his leg. Later, he lets Arthur tie him to the bed and bring him to the edge over and over again, scratching and biting so hard he breaks skin.

Arthur whispers apologies into his skin afterwards, his tongue soothing, and Merlin wears his marks as if they were the Pendragon crest.

* * *

**61.**

Nimueh sees them in her wide, shallow pool.

Merlin checks his champion’s straps and buckles, makes finicky adjustments at shoulder and waist. He’s anxious. Nimueh can see it in his face and is equal parts amused and bored. He knows better than to come for Arthur himself, and so he sends this small knight — another inevitable sacrifice for Camelot; another in a long line of short-lived entertainments for Nimueh.

At least this one looks interesting, all in dark armour.

X

His breathing is shallow, distressed. His fingers tremble over the gorget, which gleams black as pitch. He spent all night polishing it. What good a mirror shine will do is unclear, but if it soothed him it was worthwhile.

“Be careful,” he whispers, face turned away, like he fears someone is listening. “The White Witch is dangerous.”

When he has checked everything at least three times, he finally stills, unveiling a beautiful sword with a jet pommel. He offers it, hilt first.

X

Nimueh lounges some distance from the tower, sipping from a chalice of wine. There is a crunch of leaves, the careless, heavy steps of a trespasser. She sighs, scattering wildlife from the field of imminent battle with a shrug of her will. The crunching stops.

“I seek the White Witch!” calls a strong, clear voice. Nimueh stills, then begins to laugh, the sound echoing through the trees, a gleeful cacophony.

She reveals herself. Her gown is white and plain — she wouldn’t want to disappoint expectations, even those of such an unorthodox challenger.

“I am the one you seek, called Nimueh by the Isle,” she says. “Name yourself and your purpose here.”

The black knight lifts her helmet, shaking out a fall of brown hair.

“I am Sir Guinevere,” she says. “And I come to reclaim what is mine.”

X

Nimueh’s smirk is red. She circles Gwen, assessing.

“I would crush my ivory tower, and your king inside it, before I suffered Merlin in these lands,” she says. “And so he sends you to me in his stead. A maid. Has he run out of knights and resorted to pawns?”

Gwen says nothing, only watches Nimueh with caution.

“He’s taught you well,” Nimueh says. “Fine. Hear your challenge. You must best me in physical contest.”

Suspicious, Gwen asks, “That is all?”

“Pin me but once and Arthur is yours.” Nimueh holds out her hand.

Gwen hesitates only a moment before taking it.

X

“The deal is struck.” Nimueh grins. Her dress dissolves with Guinevere’s armour, leaving them both bare. Guinevere jerks, as if to recoil, and Nimueh digs in with her nails and holds her fast — tugs her close. She strokes one high cheekbone, a mocking caress.

Guinevere shoves forward, tumbling them into the loam. She is frantic, desperate, scrambling for purchase. It makes Nimueh laugh again, delighted. There is a brief moment where she can see victory cross Guinevere’s eyes, her knees having found their purchase on either side of Nimueh’s hips, her free arm braced against Nimueh’s ribs. It takes only the faintest current of magic across her belly to make her freeze.

“Ooh,” Nimueh tuts with false pity.

White light crackles over Guinevere’s breasts, sparking at her nipples. She cries out, arching sharply. As soon as the magic recedes she snarls, striking out like an angry cat. Nimueh hits her with another bolt of power before the blow can land, this time right in her cunt, a rhythmic pulse that makes her collapse, writhing.

“You didn’t believe it would be that easy, did you?” Nimueh says, smoothing the hair away from Guinevere’s open mouth. She thumbs her soft lips, rolling magic into her sex. It’s a matter of minutes before she’s gone pliant, wet, grasping for more.

“Shhh,” Nimueh hushes over Guinevere’s desperate noises, crawling between her legs. Magic swells between them, questing, following the guidance of Nimueh’s hips against Guinevere’s ready cunt. She’s so hot for touch she accepts Nimueh into her arms, whines at each ginger, teasing press of energy against her slit. Nimueh grins, showing her teeth. “Mewl for me, kitten,” she hisses, speaking close to Guinevere’s ear, savouring the wet spread around her shifting, firming cock.

The breath shocks out of her when Guinevere _rolls_ them, sheathing herself on Nimueh’s magic with a triumphant shout.

Nimueh stills when something sharp presses just beneath her jaw — a jagged stick Guinevere leans into her skin.

“Not a kitten,” she pants, smiling. “Nor a pawn. A _Queen_. And I take the tower.”

* * *

**62.**

"This is all your fault."

"It is not!"

"Oh, really, Merlin? Then how do _you_ explain why we're currently trapped in a broom cupboard on school grounds after hours?"

"…Shit timing?"

"Are you serious – no, forget it, this isn't helping us get out of here. Bloody hell, I wish I could see something."

The sound of the door handle rattling echoed through the tiny room, and Merlin sighed, sitting down and leaning back against the wall. "That won't work. That hasn't worked for the last hour."

"Well I don't see you trying anything," Arthur snapped, and a dull thump followed by a low curse told Merlin that he had probably kicked the door.

"Pretty sure injuring yourself won't help either of us."

"Shut up, Merlin."

*

"How long do you think it will take someone to find us?"

"How should I know?" After three hours, Arthur sounded more resigned than irritated. "Probably not until morning."

Merlin grimaced. They were going to be in _so_ much trouble.

*

"God, I'm starving."

"Uh." Merlin patted his pockets, knowing he had shoved some snacks in them before his meet up with Arthur. "I have a bag of salt and vinegar crisps and an unopened Twix bar."

"…Well, hand it over, then."

Merlin snorted. "You can have half."

"Fine," Arthur sighed.

*

"We could work on our History project?"

"No."

"Play twenty questions?"

"No."

"Sleep?"

" _No_."

"…Make out?"

He'd meant it as a joke, something to shock Arthur into laughing and maybe relaxing a little, but when silence was the only answer he got, Merlin drew in a sharp breath.

"Arthur?"

Arthur cleared his throat. "I, uh. Wouldn't be opposed to it?"

"Wouldn't be opposed," Merlin repeated slowly. "I'm not quite sure how to take that, in all honesty."

Arthur huffed, and Merlin heard him shuffling around before a hand landed on his, fingers fumbling until they curved around his wrist. "Is that a no?"

Merlin swallowed. "No. I mean, yes. Crap, I mean – no, it's not a no."

"So it's a yes, you'd like to make out?" Arthur sounded amused, but Merlin could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

"Yeah," Merlin breathed out, his heart suddenly pounding. "Yeah, I'd like that."

"Oh, thank god," Arthur said, and tugged him closer.

Neither of them could see what they were doing, and Merlin laughed almost giddily when Arthur's nose bumped his cheek. He could feel Arthur grin against his jaw, and then lips pressed against his. It was light and dry, innocent, and Merlin made a soft noise in the back of his throat.

"Brilliant," Arthur murmured against his mouth, and kissed him again.

It was harder this time, more confident, and when Arthur's tongue brushed against Merlin's lips he opened up with another noise echoing through him. Arthur licked his way inside, sweeping his tongue against Merlin's, and the sensation went right to Merlin's dick.

"Wait, wait," Merlin said, pulling away, and Arthur tensed.

"What? You said –"

Merlin snorted, and then scrambled around until he was in Arthur's lap, knees on either side of Arthur's hips. "Better angle," he said, and then dived back in, this kiss deeper and messier than the others.

Arthur groaned, fingers finding their way under the hem of Merlin's shirt. They kissed and kissed, mouths moving together, tongues rubbing in increasingly filthy ways, until Merlin's jaw began to hurt and his lips were so swollen he could barely feel them.

Merlin's cock ached, and he ground down without realizing he was going to, stomach flipping when he felt Arthur's hardness press against his.

"Oh god," Arthur gasped. "Merlin – don't stop –"

Merlin groaned, pressing deeper into the kiss as he rolled his hips over and over again. Arthur was making wrecked little noises beneath him and Merlin swallowed them down. There were too many clothes between them but he didn't want to stop long enough to get them out of the way. He broke the kiss, panting against Arthur's mouth, heat pooling at the base of his spine.

There was no warning before Arthur cried out, arching beneath him, and Merlin whimpered at the realization that he was coming. He rolled his hips a few more times before burying his face against Arthur's neck and shuddering, cock twitching and pulsing as he came.

Neither of them moved, Arthur's fingers trailing up and down Merlin's spine beneath his t-shirt.

Finally, Arthur cleared his throat. "So. We'll be doing that again, right?"

"Definitely."

* * *

**63.**

The detective, the one Merlin's not worked with before and whose name is—Pender? Pentman? Penthouse? Merlin smirks against his camera. That would be fitting.—He flinches at the first flash, is the point. And then even at the second, bursts of light firing across the crime scene like the bullets that had killed their Mrs Smith, who is currently laid out across her living room rug in a rather extensive pool of blood.

"They warned me about you," Pen-whatsit growls. "Point that thing away from me, please and thank you."

Merlin doesn't lift his head from his camera. "Then quit standing right round the body, thank you and please."

"Oh, good, a clever crimescene photographer. Very helpful."

"So I'm told. Now move." The detective glares at him. "Please?" Glares some more. "Your Highness?"

Pen-whatever throws up his hands, but does as requested. When he brushes past Merlin, he's not gentle about it, but instead of feeling put upon, Merlin feels like a spark has jumped into his veins.

He hesitates for a moment, then shrugs and goes back to work.

\---

Merlin's never been sure if it's him or the camera. He got the camera when he was in sixth form, but then his mum died and everything went a bit pear-shaped and he's just never been sure.

He doesn't really care, to be honest. It pays the bills, it's a fun parlour trick, it occasionally even gets him laid.

Speaking of… He hears his latest rumbling around in the kitchen. Toby? Was his name? Merlin is so bad with names. They're so arbitrary, so meaningless.

Faces, though, he never forgets. Shades of grey that show up in his pictures—He pulls one out of the developer, studying it. The victim is a pristine white, surrounded by the usual 'Oi! Dead/dying/nearly dead person here!' halo of red, so he rules out suicide and any sort of wrong-doing on her part. He's not expecting anything else, so he's surprised when his routine examination reveals a framed set of photos on the mantel. The people in it—beside and around the victim—are so dark they nearly explode off the page.

Black sheep, indeed.

Not taking his eyes off the picture, Merlin picks up his mobile and swipes at the screen.

"Pendragon."

"Arthur," he says, voice rough with excitement. That name, somehow, he remembers.

"What."

"I have a lead for you."

\---

But they don't get there in time, and Merlin ends up taking pictures of a teenage boy with half a face and his compatriot in arms with a severe lack of heart—literally—and an absurdly surprised expression.

Arthur promptly leaves to find himself a bottle.

\---

And at the bottom of it, he finds Merlin.

\---

"It wasn't your fault," Merlin murmurs into the hot skin of Arthur's neck. Arthur won't listen, but Merlin says it anyway, says it again, and more, while he fucks into Arthur from behind, because Arthur doesn't want comfort, Arthur just wants the rough slide, the taut muscles and clenched fists, the feeling of Merlin's hand in his hair, at his hips, leaving bruises. Pulling tight.

\---

Afterwards, when he sees Arthur fwumped down on his back, cock limp and satiated, skin glistening and warm, Merlin gets out his camera.

"Is that the same—" Arthur gestures at it, a slightly grim look on his face.

Merlin shrugs. "It does the job, doesn't it? Now shut up and let me photograph your gorgeous self without having to deal with the accompanying personality."

Arthur rolls his eyes, but puts his hand behind his head and stretches out, languid, well-fucked. And Merlin takes far more pictures than he should.

\---

Merlin's in his darkroom the next afternoon when his mobile rings. "Yeah," he says absently, about to put the first of his post-coitus pictures into the last rinse.

"I've found something."

Arthur's voice is so excited, Merlin immediately looks up. "Yeah?" He swishes the print around, wondering—

"Yeah, it's—Oh, shit, Merlin, I—"

"Arthur, what—"

Bullets sound nothing like flashbulbs.

Merlin's phone falls into the rinse with a splash, and Merlin stares down at the print, now fully realised:

Arthur, in Merlin's bed, naked, gorgeous, white as driven snow— and surrounded by a halo of red.

* * *

**64.**

When Merlin bent over the sink to wash his face in the basin and saw Freya staring plaintively back up at him, he didn’t scream. At least not loudly.

“Freya,” Merlin gasped, once he had caught his breath. “Are you all right?”

Freya’s pressed her mouth together in an unhappy line. Her watery form rippled. “It’s Arthur,” she said at last.

Merlin gripped the edge of the basin tightly. “Arthur?” he asked shakily. “Is he—is he awake? Is he hurt? Is he—”

“He’s _annoying_.”

—

Avalon let him pass through with barely a ripple. Merlin’s steps were wary as he approached Arthur’s resting place, lingering at the edge of it, not daring to peer inside. He froze as felt a blade pointed at his back, hardly daring to turn around.

“Haven’t learned a thing since you’ve been gone, have you?”

Merlin whirled around. “Arthur!” His voice broke. It was the first time he had said Arthur’s name aloud since—since Arthur had heard him use it. 

Arthur stepped forward, folding Merlin into an embrace and thumping him soundly on the back. “It’s good to see you,” he said.

Merlin held onto Arthur as tightly as he could, just managing to breathe.

“Now,” Arthur said, pulling back. “What took you so long? I’m bored.”

—

Merlin crankily made his way to the king-sized mattress—Arthur had _insisted_ on it based on the name alone—strewn with pillows and flopped down onto it, exhausted. Explaining the world’s history to Arthur had been thrilling. Magically redecorating Avalon to cater to Arthur’s every whim was downright fun. Sampling food from every country that Merlin had visited had been delightful. But Merlin drew the line at further physical violence upon his person. “I didn’t miss sword practice with you _at all_ ,” he said.

“No wonder the world is coming to an end,” Arthur said cheerfully. He sat down next to Merlin on the mattress. “Are there many enemies for me to defeat in the outside world?”

“Er, not really?” Merlin said, rolling over to squint at him.

“Then what am I here for? There’s nothing else to do here.”

“Have you tried wanking?”

Arthur threw a pillow at him.

—

Freya smiled sheepishly at him. “I’m sorry, Merlin, but I didn’t know what else to do.”

Merlin paused in the middle of his rant to stare at the pool of water. He had managed to steal a few moments away from Arthur to seek Freya out. “No! No, you did the right thing in calling me. Arthur’s—he’s, well, you’ve seen what he’s like. He’s like a caged lion here.”

Freya sighed. “I’m not sure what’s happening. He should be able to leave. I should be able to take a physical form. But he can’t, and I can’t.”

“Fantastic,” Merlin muttered. “We’re stuck here forever.”

—

“Where have you _been_?”

Merlin blinked in surprise. “I was just talking to Freya to figure out why you can’t leave the island.”

Something in Arthur’s furious expression broke. He grabbed Merlin by the collar. “Don’t you ever leave me like that again,” he said, and hauled Merlin into a kiss, and another, and then another. “Not after leaving me alone for so long. Never again. Promise me.”

“I didn’t know—I didn’t think—” Merlin said in between kisses as they tumbled onto the mattress.

“ _Promise me_ ,” Arthur said desperately into Merlin’s neck. 

“I promise,” Merlin said. “I missed you. You have no idea how much.” He shivered, feeling every brush of Arthur’s lips against his skin. Arthur was relentless, shoving Merlin’s clothing out of the way. His fingers, warm and strong, reached down to close around Merlin’s cock, stripping it roughly. Merlin shuddered, arching into Arthur’s grip. Arthur face was determined, and he was—he was going to—Merlin’s eyes flashed gold as he pressed coated fingers into Arthur, inside and out, stretching him carefully.

“I do. I remember everything,” Arthur panted. He eased down onto Merlin’s cock, groaning softly. His thighs bracketed Merlin’s hips as he rocked up and down, throwing his head back. “I never forgot. I spent my time thinking of you. Only you.”

Merlin bit back a groan as Arthur increased his rhythm, his thighs trembling with the effort. He reached for Arthur’s cock, curling his fingers around it, slick, and slid his hand all along its length. “We’ll find a way out. Together.”

—

“That’s it?” Arthur demanded incredulously. “We just hold hands and we can pass through?”

“Come on,” Merlin said, tugging on Arthur’s hand and felt Avalon’s whisper of a sigh as he pulled them through to the outside. “The world awaits.”

* * *

**65.**

The young acolyte trembled as he placed the goblet of wine on the stone altar before him. It wasn't much, but it had cost him almost a month's wages.

Reverently, he sank down to his knees, bowing his head as his lips moved silently in prayer. Please. _Please._

The dark temple was drafty and cool and the acolyte shivered, the cold of the stone cutting into his bare legs. But he kept his vigil until his legs had gone numb and his neck ached. 

When he finally lifted his head, the temple was empty. Even the priests had left. He sighed and painstakingly got to his feet, shaking out the pins and needles.

Touching two fingers to the stone altar, he turned to leave. A ringing filled his head and he rubbed at his ears, not paying attention. Then he realized he could clearly see the path in front of him. He gasped, whirling, and threw up a hand against the bright light shining from the stone altar.

"Mortal," the god said, for of course it would be a god, hidden by that blinding light. "What is it that you seek?"

The acolyte fell to his knees again and pressed his forehead against the stone floor. "Your favor." His voice was low, breathless. 

"My favor and a boon."

"Yes. If it pleases my Lord."

"It does." The god sounded amused. "Rise."

The acolyte raised his head and sank back on his knees, keeping his eyes down. "My Lord-"

The god cut him off. "Your name."

"Merlin." Merlin swallowed hard. "Please, my Lord, my mother is very sick."

"And what does this matter to me? I am the God of light." 

Merlin raised his head, startled, his eyes flashing. "And the God of healing."

Apollo narrowed his eyes at him but Merlin refused to lower his own, meeting his gaze.

Apollo was naked, he realized, reclining on the stone altar as if it were the softest bed. He was golden, and shining with that warm golden light, and absolutely beautiful. 

Apollo licked his lips and looked down at Merlin's goblet, tracing the rim with his finger. "And this is your offering?"

"Yes." 

Apollo lifted it to his lips and tasted. "It's not much." His lips were glistening with the red wine, and Merlin felt his anger heat.

"It is all we could afford. Please. I beseech you to help me."

Apollo's eyes flashed. "You beseech me? Interesting. But this sacrifice is not enough. I need more."

Merlin felt the hope leaving him, seeping out like the heat leaving his body and creeping into the stone floor. "More."

"Yes." Apollo sat up and stood before his own altar. Merlin couldn't help but to focus on his cock, nestled in a patch of golden curls, and half hard. Merlin's own cock twitched beneath his tunic. "Tell me, Merlin. Have you ever lain with a woman?"

Merlin licked his lips, his throat dry. "No."

"A man?"

His breath caught. "No. My Lord."

Apollo seemed pleased. "Come here."

Shaky, Merlin stood up and took Apollo's outstretched hand. The god led him to the altar and had him sit on the edge. 

"Pull up your tunic." Merlin flushed, but revealed his now hard cock.

Apollo's pupils were large as he took Merlin in. "Lay back."

Propping himself up on his elbows, Merlin tried to relax, but couldn't help his yelp when Apollo took his cock into his mouth, flicking it with his tongue before beginning to suck.

 _Yes._ The god said in his head. _This sacrifice shall suffice._

Merlin's eyes rolled back in his head as Apollo massaged at his balls, and then further back to the crease of his arse. Sweating, Merlin moaned, and Apollo breached him with a hot finger of light, burning him from the inside out. Merlin came with a shout, spurting his seed into Apollo's waiting mouth.

* * *

**66.**

He was the new kid at school and heads turned wherever he went. Probably because of his size, he figured, though the girls who tried to catch his eye would argue that. He was kind, but shy, and never said much. Everyone liked Percival though no one could claim to know him well.

What no one realized was Percival had a secret. A painful, horrible secret. He could barely read. Every word was a struggle: letters turned backwards on him, and sometimes upside down. He would stare at a passage and even if he knew what it was supposed to say, he couldn’t quite decipher it. He knew it wasn’t his fault but every day was a misery, especially in Mr. Fitzwilliam’s science class. The technical terms left him floundering and he was too embarrassed to ask for help. 

Then one day someone he’d never seen before slid into the empty chair across from him. Percival couldn’t help but stare. Jet black hair and bright blue eyes, a tentative smile when he noticed Percival looking at him shot straight to Percival’s cock, making him squirm. Merlin’s eyes widened and he knocked his lab book onto the floor. When several of the other students snickered, Percival glared at them. He turned back around, his knees brushing up against Merlin’s again. A sweet shot of heat lingered but Merlin had flinched.

“Sorry.”

Percival leaned his knee against Merlin’s. There wasn’t any hope for it; there simply wasn’t enough room. Merlin stared at him, then slowly nodded. “No worries.” 

Gwaine leaned over. ”Watch out, he’s, you know.” Gwaine flapped his hands and snickered. 

Mr. Fitzwilliams frowned at Gwaine. “Something you’d care to share with the class?”

Gwaine sat back in his chair. “No need, sir.” 

The class laughed until Mr. Fitzwilliams slapped his desk with his ruler. “That will do. Open your manuals.” 

Merlin had slunk down in his chair. Percival nudged him his knee, making Merlin look up. He smiled at him hoping Merlin could see he wasn’t like Gwaine and the others. He knew how it felt to be made fun of, and it wasn’t fair. 

“....due on Monday.”

Percival jerked up in panic. “What’s due?“ 

Merlin leaned toward him. “Paper on the solar eclipse. It happens Saturday.”

A paper? Every muscle clenched in fear. “A paper on the eclipse?” 

Merlin cocked his head. “We could do it together, if you’d like--“

“ _Yes._ ” The quick smile Merlin gave him and the press of his leg against Percival’s blanketed him with calm. 

* * *

“Can I ask you something?” Merlin asked as they sat on a blanket in his backyard the next Saturday. “The other day. What Gwaine said.” Merlin’s face reddened. 

“I don’t care,” Percival blurted out. “I mean... We all have secrets. I do."

"Your reading? I know about that. I don't care, either." Merlin smiled. “Wait, the eclipse is starting. Don’t look straight at it.”

“What are we supposed to do?”

“Take notes. Experience it.”

“How?”

“Like this.” 

Merlin leaned over and kissed Percival. Percival pulled back in surprise but quickly recovered. Before he knew it, twilight was descending over them and he found himself easing Merlin’s hand into his denims. 

Seconds later they tore off their clothes and lay naked, face to face, their note-taking forgotten as Percival slid down Merlin’s body and pulled his cock into his mouth. Merlin bucked and groaned as Percival sucked on him, making him come. 

"I want you to be inside me. Right when it gets dark."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't."

Merlin straddled Percival then, letting Percival guide him onto his cock. Merlin's breath came out in harsh puffs but he encased Percival's length, moaning softly as Percival filled him just as total darkness fell. 

Percival could see nothing, but he could feel: Merlin's hands, the press of his thighs against Percival's, the powerful clench of his inner muscles as he squeezed Percival's cock. Just as the first sliver of light appeared Percival came. Merlin collapsed on top of him and together, still entwined, they watched as the sun slowly reclaimed the sky.

"That was some eclipse, wasn't it?"

***

For the first time in his life, Percival made an A on a paper. And no one ever bothered Merlin again.

* * *

**67.**

It’s like his ears are blocked, and he can’t hear his breath through the fuzz.

He feels his chest go up and down, though.

Up and down and up and down and up and down and -

“It was her,” he says, and swallows, closes his eyes to see her there. Perhaps more clearly now than she’d been back in the shop. He doesn’t -

“You’re certain?”

Merlin grips the table, looks up. He should be, he thinks.

He knows her hair had been black, long - her eyes light. Was it possible she could come back slightly different? Not like Arthur, who was unchanged and intact. Maybe she’d be someone else. He didn’t - how was he to know the rules? How was he to know she was there at all?

“I -” he says, grip tightening, hands shaking enough that Kilgharrah rattles on his stand. “It could have been.” He wipes the sweat from his lip. “She looked like her.”

It doesn’t feel like enough. Still, Merlin glances out the window, scans the road.

“If the witch is returned - ” Kilgharrah says, drawing his attention back. “If she is returned, Merlin, you cannot fail again.” And that - it presses somewhere bruised and bloodied. Slices like a newly sharpened blade and makes Merlin bare his teeth, knock Kilgharrah into the wall for thinking he’d let her anywhere _near_ him -

***

He crawls into bed behind Arthur when the light of morning sprawls out against the floor and his mind is full and heavy, racing.

“Mm?” Arthur hums, half turning when the bed dips, and Merlin just presses close, gets arms tight around him to feel Arthur breathe.

***

On a Tuesday, on a train platform, he sees her again, a glimpse as the doors are sliding shut. Arthur’s with him this time, and magic gathers hot and flaring in Merlin’s palms.

Kilgharrah says the same thing that night, when Merlin shuts himself in the office while Arthur sleeps, and the same thing again three nights later. And then again.

And again.

And again and again and again.

***

There isn’t a need for it anymore, not one that either of them can see, but Arthur still trains in the back garden, thwacking Excalibur against a dummy he built from an old mop and some firewood.

The blade is clean and gleaming, well cared for when Merlin unwraps it, takes it, and fits it easily between Morgana’s ribs in the night, when he finds her in a park just outside their town.

Her blood is hot, like he remembers, but he doesn’t feel sick this time. Not even when her face changes as he stares at her there on the ground.

He doesn’t feel sick later either, when he wakes Arthur up and goes down on him, holding his legs, his back, his arse.

He only feels grateful. Relieved.

***

When he sees Morgause, he doesn’t even need Kilgharrah.

He takes Excalibur, and he waits, and then he puts her with her sister, and he lets Arthur fuck him good and deep when he’s home, the sort he’ll feel after it’s done, an ache to remind him Arthur’s there to give it.

***

“He’ll live good and long this time,” Kilgharrah says, wooden scales warmed in the sun. “Prophecy is not easily thwarted, and then only by the most direct means.”

Merlin fingers a notch in the dragon’s side, frowns. “No one will take him from me,” he says. “Not now. Not after everything.”

“No one will take him,” Kilgharrah agrees. “You have learned.”

***

It seems to move in cycles. Or perhaps not so predictive a pattern.

Nimueh joins Morgana and Morgause, but then it’s Morgana again and that’s fine. Merlin will watch for all of them for the rest of his life if he has to, because Arthur is happy. Happy, and there for Merlin to teach him wars and language and great novels and how to drive a car. There for Merlin to kiss and hold and fuck, open up on his tongue.

He doesn’t hesitate. He can’t afford it. Not even when Mordred joins the cycle, full grown only half the time.

He won’t fail again. Not ever again.

* * *

**68.**

“Merlin?”

Merlin only had time to yell an aborted, “Don’t!” before the door opened, letting a flood of light in. He swore and covered his dark-sensitised eyes, sparing a brief, remorseful thought for the two dozen pictures hanging up that were surely ruined now.

“Christ, I’m sorry.” He heard the door close and the sound of a few footsteps and then Arthur’s voice was behind him, low and apologetic. “I didn’t think you were in here.”

Merlin lowered his hand, blinking spots out of his eyes. “Then why did you open the door?”

“Er. Good point.”

Rolling his eyes seemed somewhat pointless in the darkness, but the situation just called for it. “I’m just glad these weren’t anything special,” he said, drawing the negative he’d been working on from the developing solution and tossing it into the trash.

“I really am sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Merlin said, whatever irritation he’d had at the loss of his photos dissipating with the obvious guilt in Arthur’s tone. “It was more messing around than anything serious.”

He felt rather than heard Arthur’s hesitation as he squeezed up beside him at the tub. There was a pause before Arthur said, almost rushed, “Is there a reason you never let me watch you do this?”

“No?” Merlin said, taken completely aback. “You just never seemed interested. Besides, it’s not exactly riveting to watch.”

He could barely make out Arthur’s crooked smile with what little brightness the safelight provided, but it sent a wave of affection through him anyway. The feeling gained an edge as Arthur sidled behind him, lips brushing against Merlin’s ear as he said, “May I watch?”

He knew Arthur was referring to developing rather than what first popped into his mind, but he could feel his body take an interest regardless. “Knock yourself out.” His pride at the steadiness in his voice was instantly undermined when brushing against Arthur’s arm sent a shiver down his spine that the prat _had_ to have felt. 

Sure enough, Arthur’s smirk was evident in his tone when he said, low and unreasonably dirty, “All right, then?”

“ _Fine_.” He grabbed another photo from the enlarger and slid it into the developer, trying to ignore how warm Arthur was at his back. “They’re probably going to be too foggy from the light, but at least I can show you how it’s done,” he said, and began agitating the tray. 

His mental count stuttered as he felt how each time he shook the tray, he would rock just slightly back into an unyielding Arthur. “Then I rinse it,” he said, and slunk from Arthur’s pseudo-embrace to the sink where he shakily ran water over the paper, trying to regain his equilibrium. Whatever success he had was undone as he slid back to the tubs to put the photo in the stop bath. As he shook the tray again, he felt Arthur press forward slightly, increasing the friction of every small movement. By the time Merlin had gone through the fixer and the hypo clear, he was all but rutting backwards into Arthur’s hips. Their panted breaths had replaced Merlin’s descriptions of the steps, and Merlin barely had time to put the picture under the final rinse before he turned around and jumped Arthur.

“This,” he said between breaths, tearing at Arthur’s belt, “is why I haven’t let you in here before. You’re too distracting.” He cut off Arthur’s laugh with his lips and threw the belt at the door. It clattered loudly as Merlin shoved his hand down the opening in Arthur’s trousers, wrapping it around Arthur’s already-hard cock.

“I thought you were a _professional_ ,” Arthur said, his mockingly calm tone belied by the way his hips bucked as Merlin stroked him with a firm grip.

Merlin withdrew his hand and dropped to his knees, nuzzling at Arthur’s groin, breathing in the musky scent of Arthur’s arousal mixed with the darkroom chemicals. He felt high on the heady combination and grinned when Arthur gave a strangled moan. “We have ten minutes until I have to hang the print,” he said and leaned forward to lick at the head, catching the pre-come with practiced swipes of his tongue. “I’ll show you professional.”

* * *

**69.**

On the first day of his new job, Merlin was, understandably, rather nervous. He must have been working towards this promotion for _centuries_ by now, and although he had met all the prerequisites, nailed the interview, and passed every test with flying colors, he did not feel anything like what one might define as “ready”. Even so, when the day finally came, he woke up, ate breakfast, got dressed in the new uniform, and then promptly descended from the heavens and appeared on the shoulder of his new charge, accompanied by a flash of white light and the sound of a singing church choir. He liked to go by the books.

Unfortunately, someone else had already beaten him there.

“Seriously Gwaine? You are _not_ the sort of guy to pass up a night of sex and booze,” said the attractive man who leaned on his charge’s opposite shoulder. If it hadn’t been for the barbed tail and sharp red horns peeking out of his blond hair, Merlin might have thought the man was human, especially when he was wearing jeans and a t-shirt that made Merlin’s white robes itch like a tux at a super bowl party. “I’m just saying, you have a reputation to keep. If you don’t show, people are going to start to think something’s up.”

“No! Wait! Don’t!” Merlin cut in. This was his job. He could do this. “What would your mother say? Parties can be dangerous! And, um, you might get drunk, which would be—”

“…totally and completely awesome. You deserve to get smashed after a week like this one, am I right?” the demon interrupted. Merlin leaned back and shot him a glare behind Gwaine’s neck, but the blond man only gave him a devious smirk before returning his attention to the matter at hand. “Really, Gwaine. Go have some fun. Enjoy yourself. Get drunk. Get laid. You won’t regret it later — you never do.”

After that, Gwaine’s face took on a resolved expression. Merlin sighed in defeat as his apparently very suggestible charge grabbed his jacket and left his apartment, unknowingly carrying a disgruntled Merlin and a handsome devil along with him.

“I’m Arthur, by the way,” said the demon, flicking his tail the same way someone might wave in greeting. “Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Merlin,” he replied, sniffing petulantly and adjusting his halo. “Not very pleased to meet you, to be honest.”

Arthur just grinned. “Don’t worry, you will be pretty soon.”

***

Gwaine bought himself some shots the moment he arrived at the bar, despite Merlin’s vain protests. Arthur sat back and watched him with amusement.

“You’re new, aren’t you?” said the demon smugly. When Merlin didn’t reply, he licked his lips (Forked tongue? _Seriously?_ ) and continued. “That’s good, I like fresh meat.”

Merlin froze. “Are you… _flirting?_ With an _angel?_ ”

Arthur waggled his eyebrows.

Heaven was a sheltered place, and so he had absolutely no idea how to respond besides flushing down to the tips of his ears and swallowing uncomfortably. There was absolutely no amount of training that could have prepared him for Arthur.

***

Several hours later, Gwaine was lying on an unfamiliar bed, dead to the world with his arm slung around the woman he’d had messy drunken sex with only minutes before. Overall, the night had been a disaster for Merlin, although he did manage to snag one small victory by getting Gwaine to wear protection. Now he was sitting on Gwaine’s pillow, feeling Arthur’s sultry gaze on his neck and doing everything he could to avoid looking back.

“You know…” said Arthur finally, crawling towards him suggestively. “I could show you things that your little vanilla mind’s never even _dreamed_ of.”

Merlin shuddered. “I-I respectfully decline.”

“Of course you do…” he said in a low voice. “Because that would be _blasphemy_ , wouldn’t it? That’d be _wrong_ , and you’re a good little angel…”

Arthur was close now, far too close, his hand brushing at the hem of Merlin’s robes and trailing up his leg. Merlin couldn’t help but let out a groan, because damn him if Arthur wasn’t gorgeous, with blue eyes and a devilish grin and bronze skin tanned by the fires of hell. When Arthur’s fingertips reached the base of Merlin’s cock and _squeezed_ , all he could do was whimper and writhe, yearning for more. Arthur moved his hand faster, teasing him sinfully until his erection was throbbing and— _Oh God_ , he was going to hell.

Arthur laughed as Merlin finally reached his orgasm, wiping his come on Gwaine’s pillow. “See? That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he said, grinning devilishly. “Blasphemy never felt so good, did it?”

* * *

**70.**

The blade was sharp, finely honed and beautifully crafted. Morgana appreciated fine craftsmanship, and this was some of the finest she'd ever seen. She tested the weight of it in her palm, held it up to the candlelight and admired the detailed carvings along the edge. Whoever had made the weapon had been an artist, for the work was fine and precise, and just looking at it made her blood burn with appreciation. She ran her thumb over the tip, cutting a thin line through the skin, drawing a ruby red drop to the surface. She let the liquid well up and wiped it down Merlin's chest, drawing a line from his Adam's apple to his belly button. 

“That's where I'm going to cut you.” She followed the words with the tip of the knife, letting it glide over his slick skin, but not using enough force to make the words come true. Not quite. Merlin held his breath, his chest neither rising or falling, but his pulse raced. She stared at for a few moments, enraptured by the sight. It was so strange how the heart raced when clutched by fear. Some animals slowed their hearts when frightened—made themselves harder to hear. But the blood would pour out the same either way. 

“Oh, Merlin, it didn't have to be this way. I don't know why you have to be so stubborn. We can put an end to all of it right now.” 

Merlin stared at her with murderous hatred simmering in his eyes. Morgana laughed. With the collar around his neck, he was powerless, unable to summon even a flicker of magic. She knew why he kept his silence. He thought he was protecting Arthur, but how well could he protect his prince if he was dead? She had pointed that out to him earlier, but the time for logical discourse had long passed. Clearly, Merlin had no intention of being logical about any of this. Even though he knew full well what she was capable of. 

She stepped to the side, allowing him a full view of what had once been the most feared and respected knights of the kingdom. Gwaine had it easiest. She sliced his throat from ear to ear with her beautiful blade. Despite the thinness of the cut, he'd bled out quick. Quick enough that he hadn't heard Leon beg for his life, practically crying like a woman. He had tried, in vain, to appeal to her sentimental side. Morgana had no sentiment left, though, and she had demonstrated that fact by cutting out his tongue and shoving it down Elyan's throat. Elyan had lived the longest of the knights, but that was only because she had saved Gwen for nearly last. 

Now there was only Merlin left. The blood of the fallen mingled and flooded over the stone floor, nearly reaching his feet. His toes dangled inches above it, his arms stretched in chains high above his head. 

“Since you're not going to tell me what I want to hear...” 

She snapped her fingers and an instant later, rawhide string threaded through his lips, holding his mouth closed. She didn't want to hear him scream. She'd heard enough screams that night, and she still had so many thousands more to hear. The subjects of Camelot would scream and scream more days and nights and months. She planned to make it last. Planned to destroy the entire kingdom one person at a time, until she sat on a throne made of bones and ruled over the silent plain of red. 

She would savor those screams. In the meantime, she wanted to watch Merlin struggle. In his dying moments, she wanted to see him fight to make a noise, a single sound of protest. Morgana danced around the room, feeling elated. Feeling _young_ again, like when she was a girl and Uther had spoiled her with gifts and affection, stroking her hair and smiling at her with sweet indulgence. He would have been proud of his girl, had he lived long enough to see the tortures she'd devised for the disloyal ones. Unfortunately, she was forced to begin with him, sneaking into his chambers as he had once snuck into hers. Shoving a sword into his backside, gently like he had once pushed into her, working the blade deeper and deeper into his guts. His bed had been painted in crimson and brown and tears but he died without crying out.

* * *

**71.**

Merlin still wsn't entirely used to the split sleep the court adhered to during the winter months. During his first year as Arthur's manservant he barely managed to stumble out of bed, never mind do anything useful. 

He was better at it now. Well. He was used to it, at least. By the time he'd shivered his way down to the kitchens to grab the wine to heat up he was mostly awake. His mind wasn't working at full speed, but he could speak full sentences, which he felt was an achievement. 

The castle was quiet. The servants were the only people walking about the castle, and they barely made a sound. Even the guards seemed to melt into the darkness. 

“Sire,” he whispered as he walked through Arthur's door. It felt wrong, talking at normal volume. The world was still and it seemed wrong to disturb it. Arthur had lit one candle, and the fire was low, casting long shadows.

“Merlin,” Arthur muttered. Merlin shut the door behind him and blinked until his eyes got used to the darkness. Arthur was a huddled lump in the bed. “Don't just stand there.” 

Merlin nodded. He set the wine down next to the fire so it could warm, then walked to Arthur's side. Arthur rolled over as Merlin approached. Merlin stepped to one side until the fire could reach Arthur's face, illuminating Arthur's sleep-soft features. 

Athur huffed again and opened one eye. Merlin rolled his eyes in return. He tugged off his boots nd socks, and slipped off his shirt. He shuddered as the cold air hit his skin, then slipped into bed next to Arthur. Merlin pushed his magic out and untied the bed curtains until darkness fell around them. 

“Still not used to that,” Arthur said as he pulled away. “Useful though.” 

Merlin could barely breathe around the tightness in his chest. Arthur's words, although not unheard of were like a balm to Merlin's nerves, a reassurance that Merlin didn't realise he needed. Merlin reached out blindly until his hands hit warm skin. 

Merlin shifted closer, and Arthur swore as Merlin planted his cold feet on Arthur's shins. 

“You arse.” 

“It's cold. Thought you ought to know.” 

“You could've stayed in bed.”

“And miss out on the wine? Nah,” Merlin said, sliding closer. Arthur's skin was hot against his own, and Merlin swallowed a groan as Arthur plastered himself along his side. 

“Bet your hands are cold too.” 

Merlin cupped Arthur's arse, grinning as Arthur gasped. 

Arthur rolled over on top of Merlin. Merlin archeed up, whimpering. He could imagine the smug grin Arthur had on his face. 

“Evil,” Merlin muttered. 

“I could stop,” Arthur said, pushing up with his arms until there was an unacceptable amount of space between Merlin and Arthur's body. 

“Nope,” Merlin said, tugging Arthur back down. Merlin ended up kissing Arthur's nose first, and huffed a laugh. They moved and found each other's lips. Arthur made a happy noise into Merlin's mouth, biting at Merlin's lower lip. 

“I think these are in the way,” Arthur said, pushing his hips into Merlin's, the evidence of his interest clear.

“Yes, yes. Let's take them off,” Merlin said. 

“Brilliant idea.” 

“I get them occasionally,” Merlin replied. Arthur seemed too busy taking off his trousers to answer. Merlin followed suit and stripped off the last of his clothing.

“Oh, yes,” Arthur sid as their erections pressed against each other, making Merlin shudder.

Arthur grinned and slid his body against Merlin's, making him writhe. Arthur didn't stop moving until he was resting at Merlin's hip. Merlin took in a deep breath and looked down. He couldn't see much, just making out the gold of Arthur's hair bent over his hips. 

Arthur's tongue was almost burning hot against his erection, soft and wet as Arthur licked at the head of Merlin's cock. 

Merlin clung to the bedsheets as Arthur's mouth took him apart. Arthur moaned around him, like Merlin was the best thing he'd tasted. Merlin lifted his head, blinked to try to focus on Arthur in the dark. Arthur removed his mouth and Merlin could just make out Arthur's grin. Merlin smiled weakly and let his head fall back, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Arthur, Arthur,” Merlin said, urgently as he came, muscles clenching as he spilled into Arthur's mouth.He fumbled his hands until they found Arthur's shoulders. He tugged at Arthur until their mouths met, Merlin groaning at the bitter taste of Arthur's mouth. 

“My turn,” Arthur muttered.

* * *

**72.**

“Ssshhh,” Arthur pressed his fingers to his victim’s lips. Or what would have been their lips if the duct tape wasn’t covering them. The pleas that were escaping were starting to grate on his nerves. “You were doing so well, don’t ruin it all now.” He let his hand trail down the man’s side, checking the rope that held the body tied down to the board, making sure the man’s struggles hadn’t loosened it.

He preferred not to take chances.

Pleased to find the ropes secure, Arthur patted the thigh nearest him and went back to his table of tools, grabbing the scalpel he had been using. He brought it over to the sink that was kept in the corner of the basement and turned the water. He watched as the blood washed down the drain and checked the clock on the wall.

It was almost time. 

The muffled cries had quieted down into a small whimper and Arthur enjoyed the near silence while it lasted. Between his work at the hospital and his work in the basement true silence was rare.

“Is this for me?” there was awe in that familiar voice and Arthur turned to see Merlin coming down the steps. His pack was slung at his side, heavy with the books from his classes and one of the seams on the side coming undone. Arthur would look into getting him a new one, if he left it up to Merlin he’d use it till it feel apart. 

Merlin’s eyes moved from Arthur to the overweight man Arthur had tied down and carved up on the table.

He had made sure to lay down a tarp so the blood would be easier to clean up. Practice had shown him it would be easier in the long run. 

There was no doubt the man was dying, would be dead in a matter of hours. He had been steadily bleeding out from the cuts Arthur had left across his body since Arthur had grabbed him this morning. None of them were deep or vicious enough to kill him quickly, but they would be incredibly painful. Med school had given Arthur the skills needed to create a masterpiece and to keep that masterpiece ready for it’s true artist. 

Merlin came to stand beside Arthur his bag forgotten on the ground; his eyes followed the path of the cuts. “Arthur,” Merlin turned to him, his voice breaking and Arthur knew he had found the right gift. 

Merlin had had finals that week and had been stressed and jumpy. Today was his last test and Arthur had wanted to do something special to reward him.

“Do you like it?” Merlin threw himself at Arthur, capturing his mouth in a harsh kiss, his arms winding around his neck. Arthur pulling him in closer, tangling a hand in his hair as he tilted his head back to suck at his throat, the scalpel was still in his hand and Merlin’s breath caught as it touched his skin.

“Thank you.” Merlin whispered his smile bright, exhaustion almost gone from his eyes. It was being replaced with the anticipation of what was to come. 

Arthur pressed the scalpel into Merlin’s hand. “I know you’ve missed it.” He moved behind Merlin, circling his hands around his waist and walking him forward towards the table. “If you want I’ll even let you take the tape off his mouth, I know you love to hear them.”

As he talked he worked on unsnapping the button on Merlin’s trousers, pushing them down off his hips. Merlin stepped out of them never leaving the circle of Arthur’s arms as they came to stand beside the table. Arthur wrapped a hand around Merlin’s cock as Merlin trailed the scalpel down the man’s forearm, tearing a ragged red line through his skin. With his other hand he reached forward to tear the tape off his mouth, the screams echoing off the wall as Arthur bit into Merlin’s shoulder.

Merlin was hard in his hand as Arthur worked him, watching as Merlin painted on the canvas Arthur had given him.

Arthur pressed a kiss into Merlin’s neck, the blood warm against their skin.

* * *

**73.**

Arthur's hands cup Gwen's breasts and she shivers. He thinks it's pleasure, and why shouldn't he? But she isn't so sure.

If she could only _remember_. She tries but the memories slide away, slippery, elusive. Others tangle around her, and she wants to forget them but she can't.

~

Lance contorted into an awkward position as they tangled in the back of his car, his hands under her skirt, her wetness dripping down her thighs.

~

"Did you have a good time today?" Arthur thumbs her nipple with one hand and slides the other down her belly, following the trail Lance blazed before him. He slides his fingers through her folds and she knows even before he groans. She's wet, soaked, dripping. She wants him.

She thinks she does. She can't be sure, because her mind rebels.

_No, it wasn’t, I didn't want to. I can't remember…_

~

A fire had kindled deep in her belly when she'd taken Lance's hand. She glanced at him and knew he felt it, too. They held on to each other, hurrying to the parking lot, to Lance's car, where they'd tumbled into the backseat together and Gwen had thought, _No, I don't want to, Arthur, what about Arthur,_ even as she'd wrestled Lance's shirt over his head.

~

Arthur's fingers are blunt and insistent inside her. She writhes on them, groaning. She bites on the curve of his neck, the same place where she left a mark on Lance's, and shame burns through her, makes her gasp and drive her hips against Arthur's hand, oh God, makes her _wetter_.

~

Something was wrong. She'd thought _Stop, Gwen_ , but her body moved as though under someone else's direction. She'd thought, _You don't want this_ , but when she'd guided him into her, it had been the best thing she'd ever felt.

~

Arthur bears her onto her back in the middle of their bed, and it's a relief. There's space here, more than enough room to spread out. It's not the cramped back of Lance's car in the middle of the carnival parking lot, it's not her kneeling over him, driving onto him, beating against the walls of her mind shouting, _No, no, no,_ even as she wondered how it was possible to be so close already, if she really didn't want this after all.

~

It's so hard to think, memory is a slippery thing, but before the fire, before the fire there'd been the carnival, funnel cakes and games of chance, stuffed animal prizes and a tent with a sign propped outside. _Madam Zola the Hypnotist! Discover your Inner Desires!_

Gwen laughed, and Lance wheedled, and Gwen said, "Fine, but the only inner desire I've got right now is for a corn dog, and I could tell you that for free."

~

"God, you're so hot for me," Arthur laughs into their kiss as he fucks her and she pants against her mouth. "You're my little whore, aren't you?"

He calls her that in bed sometimes, because she likes it. Because it makes her shiver and blush and moan as he moves inside her. Tonight it drives her wild, fingers clawing down his back because she is and he doesn't even know. She's a whore and she's his, she's his, she's _his_.

~

"Lovers?" Zola asked, eyeing the ring on Gwen's finger, still new enough that she found herself playing with it in idle moments.

"Exes," Lance had said.

" _Friends_ ," Gwen had insisted, kicking him under the table.

Zola had smiled and taken their money.

And then…

then…

then she was sitting back, saying their time was up, but Gwen couldn't remember where it had gone. "I didn't cluck like a chicken, did I?" she'd joked to cover her unease.

"No." Zola smiled, and then she'd said something else, something Gwen couldn't remember, something that might have been, _Not yet._

~

She hadn't wanted Lance, but that had been hard to remember as she'd keened beneath him. She didn't want it, but she liked it, she _loved_ it. He'd grabbed her thighs like Arthur grabs them now, pulled her down harder as Arthur bends her to find a better angle. Arthur kisses her like Lance kissed her, hard, demanding as she shatters apart beneath him, as she'd shattered apart beneath Lance, clenching tight around him. She'd come harder with him than she ever had before.

And now, with Arthur, with the dual assault of him inside her and the memory of Lance buried there just hours before, she comes even harder.

* * *

**74.**

The Druids taught him about balance, and he listened. They spoke of things in pairs – light and dark, fire and ice, hatred and love – and he believed them. He thought he understood.

Then they said there was too much darkness in him. When he grew violent – and Mordred remembers it very well, the anger rising inside him like a flood, washing away everything in its path – they said he couldn’t stay anymore, that he was dangerous.

Oh, he understood that, too. He doesn’t resent them for abandoning him. He’s used to betrayal.

That’s why he’s not surprised when he sees Emrys in his chambers, standing half-hidden, obscured by shadows, only the dull yellow gleam of his eyes betraying his presence—

No, Mordred thinks. It’s Emrys. I would know him anywhere.

He closes the door carefully behind him and strips of his armour, feeling the heavy weight of Emrys’s gaze. 

“Have you come to kill me?” he asks.

“Yes,” Emrys says.

“May I ask why?”

It’s pure courtesy, because he doesn’t have to. Still, the heavy, oppressive silence unnerves him, and no answer is forthcoming. He takes a few steps forward.

“You want me dead. You can’t keep dodging it forever.”

He’s standing in Emrys’s space and it’s—thrilling. It’s not at all like being next to Morgana, whose power is like a dark pool of hatred and malice where he remembered a cool, bright spring; no, Emrys is _glowing_ , like the sun itself. He wonders how is it possible that no-one ever noticed.

“I don’t want you dead,” Emrys says. “But I can’t let you—“

“Kill Arthur?”

He had expected violence but Emrys still catches him off-guard. His hands slam into Mordred’s chest and push him towards the nearest wall, knocking the breath out of him. His face is inches from Mordred’s own, eyes wild and blazing, betraying the burning flame of magic that dances right under his skin.

“I should have done it years ago,” he seethes.

“But you didn’t,” Mordred says. He struggles to move under the press of Emrys’s body and magic alike, but he—

Emrys is stronger. More powerful. His magic has an outlet, a purpose; Emrys has someone to protect.

“I don’t want to kill him,” he says, voice turning into a hoarse whisper. “I saw it in a dream, over and over, but I don’t want it to happen. I don’t—“

Emrys releases him, and he feels—bereft. Without the painfully tight grip Mordred has nothing to focus on, except the cold dark look in Emrys’s eyes.

It’s his own hand this time, reaching out to fist itself in the coarse fabric of Emrys’s shirt. He remembers when, all those years ago, he thought that man meant safety.

“Do you believe me?”

“No.”

The answer is short, and who would think the King’s charming manservant could be cruel?

Still the urge to seek warmth wins. Mordred moves closer, until he can bask in the glow of Emrys’s magic and breathe in the scent of his skin.

“I wish things had been different,” he says, wistful.

“You yourself said you will never forgive me.”

The ghost of a smile creeps onto his face.

“I didn’t,” he says, because it’s true; but because nothing in Mordred’s life has ever been straightforward, and he can apparently think only in dichotomies, he kisses Emrys.

Which is not as surprising as the fact that Emrys kisses him back.

His lips are insistent and his hands even more so. Mordred manages to wrestle him down onto his bed but is quickly toppled over, Emrys once again holding him down, except this time it feels wonderful.

“I can’t figure you out,” Emrys murmurs into his skin. He undresses himself swiftly, his naked body solid and muscled. 

He has long, clever fingers. Mordred hisses sharply when they draw out his cock, their movements sure and steady, bringing him to full hardness.

It’s not his first time. He shouldn’t be—

He’s overwhelmed by the sight of Emrys leaning back, preparing himself with some oil that he procured form who knows where, his face flushed deep red and his cock sticking out. Mordred has little choice but to follow his lead, help Emrys position himself over Mordred’s hips and then watch him sink down.

His senses are assaulted—the heat and pressure around his cock; the sight of Emrys’s head thrown back and his body a long, straight line, hips moving sinuously; his soft, tiny gasps and the slap of skin, the creaking of bed; and the scent of magic crackling in the air, like the air after a storm.

 _They can’t see him like that_ , Mordred thinks wildly, climaxing. _They don’t know this side of him. The dark, ugly parts – they are all mine._

* * *

**83.**   


She felt so lonely lately. So cold. No matter how much she had improved her skills, how many people she’d been waking up for the fight against Camelot, Morgana was alone. Agravaine had long ago perished, and Aithusa wasn’t enough. There was _something_ she needed, more than war or Arthur’s head. Her body _yearned_ , her heart ached. There was a barrier she’d built with the world, blocking her from living. 

She shook herself and stood up, pressing those feelings aside to do as she may. Cooking potions, learning spells—that’s all she did now, in that space between moment and time, when seconds took ages to pass and she felt as if the sun would never set. She ran her hands through her face, the sudden need creeping through her veins again with such force she lost her breath. When she opened them again, it was to see someone sitting on her bed. 

Her heart quickened as she realized who it was. There, with a beautiful, silky dress, exactly like the one she used to wear, looking so out of place it was ridiculous. Hope still shone through her eyes, her hair was beautifully smooth and radiant; she looked so full of kindness and love Morgana’s insides twitched. She looked at the person she’d once been, when she still had no idea of the power she held and the way the world worked. Her doppelganger smiled, a beautiful, incandescent thing that wrapped her like a blanket and tugged at her chest. She found herself walking in her direction, her own green eyes encouraging her to do so, until Morgana’s hand reached the replica of her own cheek and she _felt_ the softness, the sweetness, the _heat_ ; how alive she was, how real. A doubt answered by itself. 

The other Morgana ducked her head, allowing the gesture. She took Morgana’s free hand and dragged her on until she was sitting beside her on the bed, her thighs pressing against the other, so simple and so _intimate_ Morgana’s heart ached with relief. Her eyes were locked into her own, her hands were brushing against her cheek, she was being caressed by her own fingers, being laid down by the same soft hands that belonged to a Queen; such tenderness, such adoration for something so broken as her. 

They locked their lips, sealing something Morgana couldn’t understand. A chaste kiss that kept growing and growing until her hands were tangled in the soft, raven hair, and her own garments were tore off by that sweet angel. The other Morgana cupped her breasts with her hands and massaged them, pinching at the nipples and making Morgana hiss. Her doppelganger smiled coyly, only to crouch down and circle her tongue around her tits, sucking, lapping, _biting_ —Morgana closed her eyes and surrendered at her younger self, letting her do what she wanted with her. Letting her tap her fingers on her clitoris and rub and rub and rub until she screamed and pushed her off her. 

They exchanged a wordless conversation, both grinning and restless. Morgana lifted her body to meet hers, circling her arms around her and kissing her soundly, licking at her teeth and pushing her down onto the mattress. She didn’t miss her counterpart’s eyes as she tentatively licked at her pussy, flicking her tongue over the clitoris and her vagina. Her younger self moaned, rolling her hips around her face, asking for more. 

She soon found herself eating her up, unable to resist the sounds she made, the moist and her own taste. It was fascinating, unravelling things to herself, pleasuring her body as she should. 

A rush of power coursed through her when the other Morgana cried out her ecstasy. She crawled on top of her, forcing her to taste herself on her lips and rewarding herself for the beautiful sight she offered. She wasn’t sure of what had happened, if her magic had had something to do with it, but it didn’t matter. As her lips met her own breasts again, Morgana figured she didn’t mind.


	8. Group D (No Warnings)

**75.**   


[ ](http://i.imgur.com/cdBj3qd.jpg)

* * *

**76.**   


[ ](http://i.imgur.com/u0niniX.jpg)

* * *

**77.**   


[ ](http://i.imgur.com/VXQY3Oc.jpg)

* * *

**78.**   


**The Dark Witch & the Light Dragon**

_The Dark Witch and the Light Dragon will fetch a good price,_ thinks the slave trader.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/RZ5quJg.jpg)

* * *

**79.**   


You light the darkness in me.

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/svzVimI.jpg)

* * *

**80.**   


Fair as Day, Dark as Night

[ ](http://i.imgur.com/1KOsmFN.jpg)

* * *

**81.**   


[ ](http://i.imgur.com/BjjlfxA.jpg)

* * *

**82.**   


[ ](http://i.imgur.com/5zULGnd.png)


End file.
